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“Oh, no, Colonel,” I said, struggling with a laugh; “I couldn’t allow that. It gives me great pleasure to advise you, only it’s a very delicate matter, you know–and–really” (I was casting about wildly for an inspiration) “wouldn’t it be better to go on to the city, as you intended, and ask the lady to go with you and exercise her own taste in selecting a ring?”

My companion took a step backward, folded his arms, and looked at me admiringly.

“Well, if it don’t beat all how a woman walks through a millstone! Now that’s what I call neat. Why, God bless you, madam, I’ve been boring at that thing for a week steady, night and day, by–myself, and making no headway. It makes me think of my mother. ‘Robert,’ she used to say (and she had a very small, trembly voice),–‘Robert, a woman’s little finger weighs more than a man’s whole carcass;’ and she was right. I’ll be–destroyed if she wasn’t right!”

Esculapius laughed rather unnecessarily when I repeated this conversation to him.

“I am willing to allow that it’s funny,” I said; “but after all there is a rude pathos in the man, an untutored chivalry. Nearly every man loves and reverences a woman; but this man loves and reverences women. It is old-fashioned, I know, but it has a breezy sweetness of its own, like the lavender and rosemary of our grandmothers; don’t you think so?”

There was no reply. I imagine that Esculapius is sensible at times of his want of ideality, and feels a delicacy in conversing with me. So I went on musingly:–

“With such natures love is an instinct; and it is to instinct, after all, that we must look for everything that is fresh and poetic in humanity. We have all made this sacrifice to culture,–a sacrifice of force to expression. Isn’t it so, my love?”

Still no reply.

“I like to picture to myself the affection of which such a man is capable, for no doubt he loves this girl of whom he speaks; not, of course, as you–as you ought to love me, but with a rude, wild sincerity, a sort of rugged grandeur. Imagine him betrayed by her. A man of the world might grow white about the lips and sick at heart, but he would find relief in cynicism and bitter words. This man would act,–some wild, strange act of vengeance. The cultured nature is a honeycomb: his is a solid mass; and masses give us our most picturesque effects. Don’t you think so, my dear?”

And still no reply.

“Esculapius!”

“Well, my love?”

“Isn’t it barbarous of you not to answer when I speak to you?”

“Possibly; at least it has that appearance, but there are mitigating circumstances, my dear. I was asleep.”

II.

Two weeks later the colonel brought his wife to call upon me. She was a showy, loud-voiced blonde, resplendently over-dressed. At the first opportunity her husband motioned me aside.

“Isn’t she about the gayest piece of calico you ever saw?” he asked, with proud confidence. “Doesn’t she lay over anything around here by a large majority?”

“She is certainly a very striking woman,” I said gravely, “and one who does you great credit. But I am a little surprised, Colonel. No doubt it was a mistake, but I got the impression in some way that the lady was a brunette.”

The colonel’s countenance fell. “Now, look here,” he said, after a little reflection; “I don’t mind telling you, because you’re up to the city ways and you’ll understand. The fact is, this isn’t the one. You see, I went on to ‘Frisco as you advised, and planked down a check for five hundred dollars the minute I got there. ‘Now,’ said I, ‘Bob Jarvis don’t do things by halves; just you take that money, my girl, and get yourself a ring that’s equal to the occasion. I don’t care if it’s a cluster of solitary diamonds as big as a section of well-pipe.’ Now, I call that square, don’t you? Well, God bless your soul, madam, if she didn’t take that money and skip out with another fellow! Some white-livered city sneak–beggin’ your husband’s pardon–who’d been hangin’ around for a year or more. Of course I was stuck when I heard of it. It was this one told me. She’s her sister. I could see that she felt bad about it. ‘It was a nasty, dirty trick,’ she said; and I’ll be–demoralized if I don’t think so myself, and said so at the time. But, after all, it turned out a lucky thing for me. Now look at that, will you?”

I followed his gaze of admiring fondness to where Mrs. Jarvis was, bridling and simpering under Esculapius’s compliments.

“Isn’t she a nosegay? But don’t you be jealous, madam; she’s just wrapped up in me, and constant,” he added, shaking his head reflectively; “why, bless your soul, she’s as constant as sin.”

When I told Esculapius of this he sighed deeply.

“What is the matter?” I asked, with some anxiety.

He threw back his head and sent a little dreamy cloud of smoke up through the acacias.

“I was thinking,” he said, pensively, “what a ‘wild, strange act of vengeance’ it was!”

I looked him sternly in the eye. “My dear,” I said, “I don’t think you ought to distress yourself about that. I never should have reminded you of it. You were dreaming, you know, and you are not responsible for what you dream. Besides, dreams are like human nature, they always go by contraries.”