“Mr. Herrick, there’s just one reason why a woman loves a man, and that’s because she loves him.  You can invent all the theories you want, and you can write tons of poetry about it, and when you get through you’ll be just where you started.  You can find a reason for pretty near everything a woman does, though you may have to rack your brains like the devil to do it, but you can’t explain why she falls in love with this man and not with that.  Perhaps you recall Longfellows’s lines:  ’The men that women marry, and why they marry them, will always be a marvel and a mystery to the world.’  Personally, I’m a bit of a fatalist regarding love.  I think hearts are mated when they’re fashioned, and when they get together you can no more keep them apart than you keep two drops of quicksilver from running into each other when they touch.  It’s as good a theory as any, for it can’t be disproved.”

“Then how account for unhappy marriages?” asked Wade.

“I said hearts were mated, not bodies and brains, nor livers, either.  Half the unhappy marriages are due, I dare say, to bad livers.”

“Well,” laughed Wade, rising and finding his hat, “your theory sounds reasonable.  As for me, I have no theory—­nor data.  So I’ll go home and go to sleep.  Don’t forget Saturday night, Doctor.”

“Saturday night?  Oh, to be sure, to be sure.  I’ll not forget, you may depend.  Good night, Mr. Herrick, and thank you for looking in on me.  And—­ah—­Mr. Herrick?”

“Yes?”

“Ah—­I wouldn’t be too meek, if I were you.  Even Fate may relish a little assistance.  Good night.  I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a thunder storm before morning.”

XIV.

Wade was relieved to find that Eve’s manner toward him had undergone no change by reason of his impromptu declaration.  They met quite as before, and if there was any embarrassment on the part of either of them it was not on hers.  During the next few days it happened that he seldom found himself alone with her for more than a few moments, but it did not occur to him that Chance alone was not responsible.  As Wade understood it, it was a period of truce, and he was careful not to give word or look that might be construed into a violation of terms.  Perhaps he overdid it a little, for there were times, usually when he was not looking, when Eve shot speculating, slightly puzzled glances at him.  Perhaps she was thinking that such subjects as last night’s thunder storm, dormer windows, and the apple crop outlook were not just what a declared lover might be supposed to choose for conversation.  Once or twice, notably toward the end of the week, and when she had been presumably making up her mind for three days, she exhibited signs of irritability and impatience.  These Wade construed as evidences of boredom and acted upon as such, cheerfully taking himself off.