ears,
leaving her alone--all alone--with plenty of money, plenty of
jewelry, a fine house, but alas, "no one to love her, none to caress,"
as the song says, and the world a desert.

"But I can still love _a friend_," she added, with a melancholy smile.
"One as disinterested, as ignorant of the world as you, would please
me best. You must stop in Chicago," she said, giving me her card
before we parted. "Every traveler should spend a few days in our
wonderful city. Call on me, and I will have up my carriage and take
you out to see the sights."

Need I say that I stopped in Chicago? or add that I went to call on
the fair widow? She took me out driving according to promise. I found
that she was just the style of woman that suited me best. I was
bashful; she was not. I was silent; she could keep up the conversation
with very little aid from me. With such a woman as that I could get
along in life. She would always be willing to take the lead. All I
would have to do would be to give her the reins, and she would keep
the team going. She would be willing to walk the first into church--to
interview the butcher and baker--to stand between me and the world. A
wife like that would be some comfort to a bashful man. Besides, she
was rich! Had she not said it? I have seldom had a happier hour than
that of our swift, exhilarating drive. The colored driver, gorgeous in
his handsome livery, kept his eyes and ears to himself. I lolled back
in the luxurious carriage beside my charmer. I forgot the unhappy
accident of the blasting-powder--all the mortifications and
disappointments of my life. I reveled in bliss. For once, I had
nothing to do but be courted. How often had I envied the girls their
privilege of keeping quiet and being made love to. How often had I
sighed to be one of the sex who is popped to and does not have to pop.
And now, this lovely, brilliant creature who sat beside me, having
been once married, and seeing my natural timidity, "knew how it was
herself," and took on her own fair hands all the responsibility.

"Mr. Flutter," said she, "I know just how you feel--you want to ask me
to marry you, but you are too bashful. Have I guessed right?"

I pressed her hand in speechless assent.

"Yes, my dear boy, I knew it. Well, this is leap-year, and I will not
see you sacrificed to your own timidity. I am yours, whenever you
wish--to-morrow if you say so--yours forever. You shall have no
trouble about it, I will speak to the R