Mrs. Bowman, dreamily. "I
have never kept anything back from you, Nathaniel. I told you all about
the first man I ever thought anything of--Charlie Tucker?"

Mr. Clark cleared his throat. "You did," he said, a trifle hoarsely.
"More than once."

"I've just had a letter from him," said Mrs. Bowman, simpering. "Fancy,
after all these years! Poor fellow, he has only just heard of my
husband's death, and, by the way he writes--"

She broke off and drummed nervously on the table.

"He hasn't heard about me, you mean," said Mr. Clark, after waiting to
give her time to finish.

"How should he?" said the widow.

"If he heard one thing, he might have heard the other," retorted Mr.
Clark. "Better write and tell him. Tell him that in six weeks' time
you'll be Mrs. Clark. Then, perhaps, he won't write again."

Mrs. Bowman sighed. "I thought, after all these years, that he must be
dead," she said, slowly, "or else married. But he says in his letter
that he has kept single for my sake all these years."

"Well, he'll be able to go on doing it," said Mr. Clark; "it'll come
easy to him after so much practice."

"He--he says in his letter that he is coming to see me," said the widow,
in a low voice, "to--to--this evening."

"Coming to see you?" repeated Mr. Clark, sharply. "What for?"

"To talk over old times, he says," was the reply. "I expect he has
altered a great deal; he was a fine-looking fellow--and so dashing.
After I gave him up he didn't care what he did. The last I heard of him
he had gone abroad."

Mr. Clark muttered something under his breath, and, in a mechanical
fashion, began to build little castles with the draughts. He was
just about to add to an already swaying structure when a thundering
rat-tat-tat at the door dispersed the draughts to the four corners of
the room. The servant opened the door, and the next moment ushered in
Mrs. Bowman's visitor.

A tall, good-looking man in a frock-coat, with a huge spray of
mignonette in his button-hole, met the critical gaze of Mr. Clark. He
paused at the door and, striking an attitude, pronounced in tones of
great amazement the Christian name of the lady of the house.

"Mr. Tucker!" said the widow, blushing.

"The same girl," said the visitor, looking round wildly, "the same as
the day she left me. Not a bit changed; not a hair different."

He took her extended hand and, bending over it, kissed it respectfully.

"It's--it's very strange to see you again, Mr.