es. The sensible
and temperate man who will love her all his life----"

"A little!" said the widow contemptuously.

"Well, a little is enough," retorted the bachelor, "at a time."

"That depends," said the widow, "on how many times--one is loved. There
are some women who are so saving of their sugar and frugal with their
sentiment that they never know the real joy of a grand passion or of
having a man love them properly. What's the use of having money if you
are always going to keep it in the bank?" she added conclusively.

The bachelor looked down at her and said nothing. There was a smile of
hopeless resignation in his eyes.

"Here we are!" cried the widow, suddenly stopping in front of a tall
brownstone house and holding out her hand politely. "So glad to
have----"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" demanded the bachelor, in
astonishment.

The widow lifted her eyebrows in faint surprise.

"What," she asked sweetly, "after----"

"You broke an engagement with me last night!" blurted out the bachelor,
looking the widow straight in the eyes. But the widow shifted her gaze
to the park across the street and swung her chatelaine indifferently.

"And you weren't 'at home' to me the day before yesterday and you were
out of town for a week before that; and you promised me that this
afternoon----"

"Did I?" asked the widow, looking up innocently.

"Yes, you did!" declared the bachelor.

"Oh, well," laughed the widow, as she tripped up the steps with a wave
of her muff, "I was only showing you the sugar bowl; but I didn't mean
you could have another spoonful; besides," she added, turning round and
talking through the tunnel in her muff, "there's somebody waiting
inside."

"Who?" demanded the bachelor.

"The man with the 'tired feeling'," said the widow.

"But," began the bachelor in a puzzled voice, "if he is tired of--of
you----"

"Me!" the widow laughed. "He isn't tired of me, Mr. Travers. It's--the
other woman. He came to me for--for----"

"A bracer?" suggested the bachelor. "What are you going to give him?" he
added.

"Vinegar, mustard, pepper, salt," said the widow counting off the
buttons of her coat, child fashion.

The bachelor looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"A little--ice," said the widow, gazing out over the park.

"Anything else?" persisted the bachelor.

The widow studied her muff musingly.

"Oh--I don't know," she said, doubtfully.

"Any