l win her, for I'm
afraid she has good sense."

And Harlson laughed and looked down in the brotherly way he had.

"But this is nonsense. Why don't you tell me something about her? Is
she fat and fifty and rich, or bread-and-buttery and white-skinned and
promising, or twenty and just generally fair to look upon, or
twenty-five and piquant and knowing, or some big, red-haired lioness,
or some yellow-haired, blue-eyed innocent, with good digestion and
premature maternal ways, or----"

"Rot! She's a woman, I tell you!"

"All right. Answer questions now categorically."

"Go ahead."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-seven or eight."

"Married?"

"No."

"Ever been married?"

"Certainly not."

"How do you know?"

Harlson looked surprised, and then he became indignant again.

"Alf," said he, "you have good traits, but you have paralysis of a
certain section of your brain. You don't remember things. Don't you
think I could tell whether or not a woman were married?"

I did not answer him off-hand. I could not very well. He knew that
his reply had set me thinking of many a curious test and many a curious
experience. Harlson had an odd fad over which we had many a debate.

It occurred usually upon the street cars. He would make a study of the
women in the car when we were together--it seemed to amuse him--and
tell me whether they were married or not. He would not look at their
hands--that would be a point of honor between us--but only at their
eyes, and then he would say whether any particular woman were married
or single, and we would leave it to the rings to decide.

Sometimes he would lose, but then he would only say: "Well, if she
didn't wear a wedding ring she should have done so," and would pay for
the cigars we smoked.

He had some sort of fancy about their eyes which I could never quite
understand. He said that a woman who had been very close to a man, who
had been part of him in any way, had nevermore the same look, and that
the difference was perceptible to one who knew the thing. I tested him
more than once, and I found that he had never actually failed.
Sometimes the woman with the look had proved unmarried, but there were
facts that made the difference.

One night Harlson and I were wandering about the city, mere driftwood,
after a dinner, and our mood carried us into the haunts of those
without the pale, not that we cared for any new emotion or excitement,
but that we wanted to look at