This struck Mr. Rylands as logical.  Besides, undoubtedly the fire had mellowed the room.  After a puff or two he looked at his wife musingly.  “Couldn’t you make yourself one of them cigarettys, as they call ’em?  Here’s the tobacco, and I’ll get you the paper.”

“I could,” she said tentatively.  Then suddenly, “What made you think of it?  You never saw me smoke!”

“No,” said Rylands, “but that lady, your old friend, Miss Clifford, does, and I thought you might be hankering after it.”

“How do you know Tinkie Clifford smokes?” said Mrs. Rylands quickly.

“She lit a cigaretty that day she called.”

“I hate it,” said Mrs. Rylands shortly.

Mr. Rylands nodded approval, and puffed meditatively.

“Josh, have you seen that girl since?”

“No,” said Joshua.

“Nor any other girl like her?”

“No,” said Joshua wonderingly.  “You see I only got to know her on your account, Ellen, that she might see you.”

“Well, don’t you do it any more!  None of ’em!  Promise me!” She leaned forward eagerly in her chair.

“But Ellen,”—­her husband began gravely.

“I know what you’re going to say, but they can’t do me any good, and you can’t do them any good as you did me, so there!”

Mr. Rylands was silent, and smiled meditatively.

“Josh!”

“Yes.”

“When you met me that night on the Sacramento boat, and looked at me, did you—­did I,” she hesitated,—­“did you look at me because I had been crying?”

“I thought you were troubled in spirit, and looked so.”

“I suppose I looked worried, of course; I had no time to change or even fix my hair; I had on that green dress, and it never was becoming.  And you only spoke to me on account of my awful looks?”

“I saw only your wrestling soul, Ellen, and I thought you needed comfort and help.”

She was silent for a moment, and then, leaning forward, picked up the poker and began to thrust it absently between the bars.

“And if it had been some other girl crying and looking awful, you’d have spoken to her all the same?”

This was a new idea to Mr. Rylands, but with most men logic is supreme.  “I suppose I would,” he said slowly.

“And married her?” She rattled the bars of the grate with the poker as if to drown the inevitable reply.

Mr. Rylands loved the woman before him, but it pleased him to think that he loved truth better.  “If it had been necessary to her salvation, yes,” he said.

“Not Tinkie?” she said suddenly.

“She never would have been in your contrite condition.”

“Much you know!  Girls like that can cry as well as laugh, just as they want to.  Well!  I suppose I did look horrid.”  Nevertheless, she seemed to gain some gratification from her husband’s reply, and changed the subject as if fearful of losing that satisfaction by further questioning.