ng other than chivalry was necessary to face
single-handed and alone those fried potatoes and Juffrouw Laps's
persistent attentions.

"Make yourself at home and eat all you want. Don't be a bit
embarrassed. Or would you rather take off your coat first? You know,
you're to stay all night with me."

Walter preferred to keep on his coat for the present.

"And I have a dram for you, too, my boy--something extra. It's
from Fockink's. You know where he has his distillery, there in that
narrow street. You must never pass along there. Bad women live in
that street. They stand at the doors and windows, don't you know;
and that isn't good for a bachelor like you."

Walter, the "bachelor," looked surprised. He was abashed; though he
was not displeased. This promotion was more flattering than going into
"business."

Still, he was embarrassed. Juffrouw Laps found it desirable, therefore,
to continue along this line.

"Certainly, Walter, you're a bachelor. Don't you know that? It's only
because at home they treat you like a child. I tell you, you're a
bachelor, just as much so as anybody else. Do you think I like Stoffel
as well as I do you? No, no, no! Not a bit of it! I like you lots
better. Don't you want a pipe to smoke? You are man enough for that. Of
course you are; and why shouldn't you smoke a pipe like other men?"

Men, men!

Walter answered that he couldn't smoke yet. It cost him an effort to
make the admission; but his first attempt to equal Stoffel in that
respect had turned out badly.

"So? You don't smoke?" She omitted his "yet."

"Well, it's a good thing. It's a stupid habit in men. And forever the
terrible smoke! I know other young gentlemen who do not smoke. For
instance, there is Piet Hammel. He's as old as you, but a little
smaller. He's going to marry a cousin of mine; and he doesn't smoke
either."

Walter felt better now. He was interested.

"Yes, they're going to get married about--well, I don't know exactly
when. But they intend to marry. I tell you, you are a real bachelor;
and it's awfully stupid of them still to treat you like a child. I've
told your mother so a hundred times. There on the street just now,
when we were together--I'm a delicate woman; but do you think I
was afraid?--with you with me? Not a bit. Not a trace of fear. And
why? Because everybody could see that I had a man with me. I ought
to have taken hold of your arm--you're almost taller than I am--but
I didn't do it because y