d us at once what he wanted. "I thought that as you kept the
store, you might hear the neighborhood news. I have lost--my wife--"

"Dead?" Billy inquired solicitously.

"No. Several months ago we motored down into this part of the country.
Some miles from here I had trouble with my engine, and I had to walk to
town for help. When I came back my wife was gone--"

I pinched Billy under the table. "Gone?" I echoed.

"Yes. She left a note. She said that she could catch a train at the
station and that she would take it. Some one evidently gave her a lift,
for she had her traveling bag with her. She said that she would sail at
once for France, and that I must not try to follow her. Of course I did
follow her, and I searched through Europe, but I found no trace, and
then it occurred to me that after all she might still be in this part of
the country--"

I held on to Billy. "Had you quarreled or anything?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Things had gone wrong somehow,"
he said, uncertainly, "I don't know why. I love her."

If you could have heard him say it! If _she_ could have heard him! There
was a silence out of which I said: "Did you ask her to warm your
slippers?"

He stared at me, then he reached out his hands across the table and
caught hold of mine in such a strong grip that it hurt. "You've seen
her," he said, "_you've seen her_--?"

Then I remembered. "I can't say any more. You see--I've promised--"

"That you wouldn't tell me?"

"Yes."

He threw back his head and laughed. "If she's in this part of the
country, I'll find her." And I knew that he would. He was the kind of
man you felt wouldn't know there were obstacles in the way when he went
after the thing he wanted.

I made him stay to supper. It was a drizzly cold night and he looked
very tired.

"Jove," he said, "you're comfortable here, with your fire and your
pussy-cat, and your teakettle on the hearth! This is the sort of thing I
like--"

"You wouldn't like living over a grocery store," I told him.

"Why not?"

"Oh, nobody around here ever has, and they are all descended from
signers of the Declaration of Independence and back of that from William
the Conqueror, and they stick their noses in the air."

"Shades of Jefferson!--why should they?"

"They shouldn't. But they do--"

He came back to the subject of his wife. "I didn't want her to warm my
slippers. It was only that I wanted her to feel like warming them," he
appealed to