“And make allowances?  He knows how poor we are and how busy I have to be.”

“He does so, my dear.  But, if it’s goin’ t’ comfort you any, there’s that corset cover you made me last Christmas.  I ain’t never wore it; I ain’t dared to with all them trimmin’s an’ lace insertion, an’ me s’ bony here an’ there.  You can have it an’ willin’, my dear, an’ then there’s them—­”

“Ann, you dear thing, as if I would!”

“Why not?  That corset cover’s a dream!  An’ then there’s them—­”

“Dear, I couldn’t—­I wouldn’t!  No, I’ll go to him just as I am—­he shall marry me just like I am—­”

“An’ that’s a goddess!” nodded Mrs. Trapes, “yes, a young goddess—­only, with more clo’es on, o’ course.  I’m glad as he’s quit peanuts; peanut men don’t kind o’ jibe in with goddesses.”

“Ann,” said Hermione, sitting back on her heels, “I think of him a great deal, of course, and—­just lately—­I’ve begun to wonder—­”

“My dear,” said Mrs. Trapes, blowing her tea, “so do I!  I been wonderin’ ever since he walked into my flat, cool as I don’t know what, an’, my dear, when I sets me mind t’ wonderment, conclusions arrive—­constant!  I’ll tell ye what I think.  First, he ain’t s’ poor as he seems—­he wears silk socks, my dear.  Second, he’s been nurtured tender—­he cleans them white teeth night an’ morn.  Third, he ain’t done no toil-an’-spinnin’ act—­take heed t’ his hands, my dear.  He’s soft-spoke but he’s masterful.  He’s young, but he’s seen a lot.  He ain’t easy t’ rile, but when he is—­my land!  He don’t say a lot, an’ he don’t seem t’ do much, an’ yet—­he don’t seem t’ starve none.  Result—­he may be anything!”

“Anything?  Ann, dear!”

“Anything!” repeated Mrs. Trapes.  “An’ havin’ studied him good an’ heeded him careful, I now conclood he’s jest the thing you need, my dear.”

“Then you like him, Ann—­you trust him?”

“I sure do.”

“Oh, you dear—­dear—­dear thing!” And once again Mrs. Trapes was clasped in those vigorous young arms and kissed with every “dear.”

“Though, mind you,” said Mrs. Trapes, pushing cup and saucer out of harm’s way, “though, mind you, he’s a mystery I ain’t found out—­yet.  D’ ye s’pose he made any money out o’ them blessed peanuts—­not him!  Mrs. Smalley, as lives down along ’Leventh, she told me as she’s seen him givin’ ’em away by the bagful t’ all the children down her way—­repeated!”

“How sweet of him!” said Hermione, her red mouth all tender curves.

“Yes, but how did he live?  How does he?  How will he?”

“I don’t know, dear; I only know I would trust him always—­always!” And sitting back, chin in hand, Hermione fell again to happy thought.