ing, but at length took his hat from under his
chair, rose, and extended his hand.

"Man alive!" she cried, "that's my _hand_, sur, I'd have ye to know.
Begahn wid ye! Lookut heere! What's the reason ye make it so long atween
yer visits, eh? Tell me that. Ah--ah--ye've no need fur to tell me, Mr.
Ristofalo! Ah--now don't tell a lie!"

"Too busy. Come all time--wasn't too busy."

"Ha, ha! Yes, yes; ye're too busy. Of coorse ye're too busy. Oh, yes! ye
_air_ too busy--a-courtin' thim I-talian froot gerls around the Frinch
Mairket. Ah! I'll bet two bits ye're a bouncer! Ah, don't tell me. I
know ye, ye villain! Some o' thim's a-waitin' fur ye now, ha, ha! Go!
And don't ye nivver come back heere anny more. D'ye mind?"

"Aw righ'." The Italian took her hand for the third time and held it,
standing in his simple square way before her and wearing his gentle
smile as he looked her in the eye. "Good-by, Kate."

Her eye quailed. Her hand pulled a little helplessly and in a meek voice
she said:--

"That's not right for you to do me that a-way, Mr. Ristofalo. I've got a
handle to my name, sur."

She threw some gentle rebuke into her glance, and turned it upon him. He
met it with that same amiable absence of emotion that was always in his
look.

"Kate too short by itself?" he asked. "Aw righ'; make it Kate
Ristofalo."

"No," said Mrs. Riley, averting and drooping her face.

"Take good care of you," said the Italian; "you and Mike. Always be
kind. Good care."

Mrs. Riley turned with sudden fervor.

"Good cayre!--Mr. Ristofalo," she exclaimed, lifting her free hand and
touching her bosom with the points of her fingers, "ye don't know the
hairt of a woman, surr! No-o-o, surr! It's _love_ we wants! 'The hairt
as has trooly loved nivver furgits, but as trooly loves ahn to the
tlose!'"

"Yes," said the Italian; "yes," nodding and ever smiling, "dass aw
righ'."

But she:--

"Ah! it's no use fur you to be a-talkin' an' a-pallaverin' to Kate Riley
when ye don't be lovin' her, Mr. Ristofalo, an' ye know ye don't."

A tear glistened in her eye.

"Yes, love you," said the Italian; "course, love you."

He did not move a foot or change the expression of a feature.

"H-yes!" said the widow. "H-yes!" she panted. "H-yes, a little! A
little, Mr. Ristofalo! But I want"--she pressed her hand hard upon her
bosom, and raised her eyes aloft--"I want to be--h--h--h-adaured above
all the e'rth!"

"Aw righ'," said Ristofalo; "das