The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(50)

Carina didn’t see, but she was willing to listen.

“The types are manifested not only by which body systems predominate, as was formerly believed, but by which faculties in the brain are preeminent.”

“But how do you know these types?”

“That’s simple. The nervous temperament is marked by silky thin hair, thin skin and muscles, paleness, and often, delicate health. Due to a less robust physique, the mind is vitally active. It is the temperament of genius and refinement.”

Carina noted Priscilla was describing herself. “And the others?”

“The bilious temperament has a determined disposition, black hair, dark eyes and skin, firmness of flesh. An energetic brain manifestation suited to enduring much mental and bodily labor.”

The physical characteristics were her own, Carina mused, but did that mean she was a workhorse?

“The sanguine are moderately plump, red haired, ruddy. Fond of outdoor exercise. The lymphatic: corpulent, fair skinned, weak, and slow. The brain is also feeble in function.”

Carina thought of Mae. There was nothing feeble in her brain, and she was as strong and vital as anyone Carina knew. She settled back against the seat, certain now she’d been served a dose of quackery.

“Then, of course, there are any number of combinations.”

But Carina had heard enough. “What happened to your father?”

“Yellow fever. His temperament, of course, was the nervous type. He lacked the constitution to battle the disease as a more hardy, less brilliant type might have.” She sighed. “So I must travel to my cousin and place myself under his protection. Aunt Prudence and I can hardly hope to support ourselves as we’re accustomed.”

Carina supposed Priscilla was lacking in adhesiveness as well as philo . . . whatever that word was that meant she didn’t like children, or she might consider marrying.

“Well.” Priscilla straightened. “Auntie’s getting agitated.” She indicated a thin woman with equally bulging eyes. “I’d better go.” She hesitated, as though expecting to be retained, then whisked back to her seat.

Carina looked at Quillan. “What did you think of that business?”

He frowned. “I wonder which bump governs gab.”

So he had been listening. Carina smiled. “It must go along with genius in the nervous type.”

He leaned forward to take her hand in his. “I prefer my bilious wife. I’ll get more work from her.”

Carina snatched her hand away. “The very thought! No wonder some people think they can lord it over others. Because someone is heavy or dark—why, if she knew how silly and patronizing she sounded—”

“She wouldn’t care. She has it all figured out. There’s no changing that sort’s mind. Trust me.” Quillan settled back, again wearing his surly scowl. Carina read his mood, felt him withdraw. Would that always be his way? She sighed.

But before they could settle into silence, another woman approached, perhaps emboldened by Miss Preston’s attempt to draw them into the social interaction of the Pullman crowd. She made no pretense at Carina, but spoke directly to Quillan. “How do you do, sir. Are you a sporting man?”

Carina looked over the small-framed woman and wondered what sport she could possibly mean. After the last conversation she would be surprised at nothing.

Quillan turned, and that was all the invitation the woman needed, apparently. She took out a deck of cards and raised her eyebrows. “Poker or vingt-et-un?”

Quillan’s mouth quirked. “Neither, thank you. My wife and I are conversing.”

The woman glanced Carina’s way, shrugged, and passed on to the next seats.

Carina said, “Conversing? I thought you didn’t want to talk.”

Quillan returned his attention to Carina. “I certainly don’t want to squander cash on a lady cardsharp.”

So that was it. The three gentlemen in the next seat didn’t seem to have such qualms. The woman had insinuated herself among them and was shuffling with agile, dainty fingers. For the next half hour Carina watched her win hand after hand as the men’s faces grew longer and darker with each.

Carina scrutinized her husband. “How did you know she would win?”

“She cheats.”

“What do you mean?”

“No sharp is without a marked deck or extra cards in a lacy sleeve or any number of tricks. Only a fool would accept that offer.”

“Or three.”

The woman was being asked to leave. Not so politely, either. A moment later another game started in the back corner of the car, near the retiring room located behind the curtain. A corpulent man brushed aside the curtain and joined the game, adjusting the waist of his breeches. Several curious parties looked on. Were they all gullible? How did Quillan know the woman was a cheat?

“Can you see her tricks?”

Quillan shook his head. “I’ve never spent enough time at the tables to learn them, nor do I suppose I’d catch on quickly. I only know enough not to be taken in.”

“It comes from a distrustful nature.”

He declined his head in agreement. “Guilty. But why should I trust before someone proves trustworthy?”

Carina smiled. “I should take lessons from you. Trusting everyone leads to trouble.”

The train whistle blew, and Quillan stretched, then looked out the window. “Cheyenne station. We need to change trains.” They had headed almost due north from Denver. Now they would go west. He started gathering their things for the porter. “I’ll need to see that the wagon is transferred. Are you hungry?”