They have
got a right to get married, and they ought to have the chance.
And Miss Dewey's smart, too. She's as bright as a biscuit.
I guess she's had trouble. I shouldn't be much more than
half surprised if Miss Dewey wasn't Miss Dewey, or hadn't
always been. Yes, sir," continued the book-keeper,
who prolonged the talk as they walked back to Lapham's
warehouse together, "I don't know exactly what it is,--it
isn't any one thing in particular,--but I should say that
girl had been married. I wouldn't speak so freely to any
of the rest, Mr. Corey,--I want you to understand that,--and
it isn't any of my business, anyway; but that's my opinion."
Corey made no reply, as he walked beside the book-keeper,
who continued--
"It's curious what a difference marriage makes in people.
Now, I know that I don't look any more like a bachelor
of my age than I do like the man in the moon, and yet I
couldn't say where the difference came in, to save me.
And it's just so with a woman. The minute you catch
sight of her face, there's something in it that tells
you whether she's married or not. What do you suppose
it is?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Corey, willing to laugh away
the topic. "And from what I read occasionally of some
people who go about repeating their happiness, I shouldn't
say that the intangible evidences were always unmistakable.
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