Are you married ?" "No," said the editor, promptly.
"Nor engaged to any--young lady ?"--with great politeness.
"No." "Well, mebbe you think it a queer thing for me to say,--mebbe you reckon you KNOW it ez well ez anybody,--but it's my opinion that White Violet is in love with you." "With me ?" ejaculated the editor, in a hopeless astonishment that at last gave way to an incredulous and irresistible laugh.
A slight touch of pain passed over Mr.Bowers's dejected face, but left the deep outlines set with a rude dignity.

"It's SO," he said, slowly, "though, as a young man and a gay feller, ye may think it's funny." "No, not funny, but a terrible blunder, Mr.Bowers, for I give you my word I know nothing of the lady and have never set eyes upon her." "No, but she has on YOU.

I can't say," continued Mr.Bowers, with sublime naivete, "that I'd ever recognize you from her description, but a woman o' that kind don't see with her eyes like you and me, but with all her senses to onct, and a heap more that ain't senses as we know 'em.

The same eyes that seed down through the brush and ferns in the Summit woods, the same ears that heerd the music of the wind trailin' through the pines, don't see you with my eyes or hear you with my ears.
And when she paints you, it's nat'ril for a woman with that pow'ful mind and grand idees to dip her brush into her heart's blood for warmth and color.

Yer smilin', young man.