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 "Austin," he said, solemnly, "if it weren't that I know she's crazy about you, I'd really think I had a chance." "Don't be an ass, Dave. No woman has ever been crazy about me—really."

David began a list of those who to his mind had betrayed an undying devotion, not one of whom would Austin admit as genuine. So that, at last, a little irritated by such skepticism, David said:

"Well, you don't expect a nice girl to come and tell you that she's dying for you, do you?"

"And why not?" exclaimed Austin, with feeling. "My Lord! David, I hate that sort of narrowness. If a girl feels a thing, is there any reason why she shouldn't tell it, just as much as a man?"

"Simply they don't—not the nice ones," said David, speaking as an observer, a lawyer, and a man of the world.

"The nice ones!" cried Austin. "You seem to think it isn't nice to be human; and, anyhow, who made you the arbiter of women's conduct?"

This was one of those absolutely impersonal discussions that seemed to rouse the most personal animosities. David's proposition was that Austin might allow women