“I’m not fooling.  I want you to understand that I have consulted my mirror.  And I know just how likely I am to appeal to the imagination of a young girl.  I take my chance, nevertheless.  Your question, divested of oratory, means what shall I do if Desire finds her mate and that mate is not myself?  My answer, also divested of oratory, is that I do not keep what does not belong to me.  Is that plain?”

The doctor nodded.  “Plain enough,” he said.  “But how will you know?”

“Well, I might guess.  You see,” resuming his seat and his ordinary manner at the same time, “Desire is my secretary.  I make a point of studying the psychology of those who work with me.  And, aside from the slight abnormality which I have mentioned, Desire is very true to type, her own type—­a very womanly one.  And a woman in love is hard to mistake.  But,” cheerfully, “she is only a child yet in matters of loving.  And she may never grow up.”

“You seem quite happy about it.”

" ‘Call no man happy till he is dead.’  And yet—­I am happy.  If tears must come, why anticipate them?”

“There speaks the hopeless optimist,” said Rogers, laughing.  “But because I called you a fish, I’ll give you a bit of valuable advice.  I can’t see you scrap quite all your chances.  Kill Mary.”

“I can’t.  Besides, why should I?  Desire likes to hear about her.  Or says she does.  It provides her with an interest.  And a little perfectly human jealousy is very stimulating.”

“You think she is jealous?”

“Oh, not in the way you mean.  But every woman likes to be first, even with her friends.  And if she can’t be first, she is healthily curious about the woman who is.  Desire would miss Mary very much.”

“You’ve been a fool, Benis.”

“I shall try not to be a bigger one.”

The friends looked polite daggers at each other.  And suddenly smiled.

“To be continued in our next,” said Rogers.  “Is it finally settled that we turn homeward tomorrow?”

“Yes.  We did our last extracting from the hawk-eyed one yesterday.  He has been a real find, John.  Do you know what he calls Aunt Caroline?  ‘The-old-woman-who-sniffs-the-air.’  Desire did not translate.  Isn’t she rather a wonder, John?  Did you ever see any-thing like the way she manages Aunt?”

But the doctor’s eyes were on the distant tents.

“Someone in blue is waving to us,” he said.  “It must be your Aunt.”

Spence lazily raised his eyes.

“No.  That’s Desire.  She is wearing blue.”

“She was wearing pink this morning.”

“Yes.  But she won’t be wearing it this afternoon.”

“How do you know?” curiously.

The professor yawned.  “By psychology!  I happened to mention that pink was Mary’s favorite color.”

Rogers opened his lips.  He was plainly struggling with himself.

“Don’t trouble,” said Spence serenely.  “I know what you feel it your duty to say.  But it isn’t really your duty.  And there would be no use in saying it, anyway.  I take my chances!”