orning
she dragged me out of bed at half-past five to go fishing. Fishing! At
this season! I never saw a girl so crazy for fish in my life; and when
we had walked four miles to find the right spot and she had been silent
long enough for me to feel a nibble at the bait and had helped me with
all her might and main to haul in that blessed little fish, do you know
what she did?"

The widow looked up questioningly.

"She cried because I wanted to bring it home and made me throw it back
into the water. That's what she did!"

The widow sat up straight, with horrified eyes.

"Well, of course she did!" she exclaimed heatedly. "She only asked you
to _catch_ the fish didn't she--not to _kill_ it?"

The bachelor stared at her for a moment without speaking. Then he got up
silently and walked over to the window.

"I suppose," he remarked after a long pause, apparently addressing the
front lawn or the blue heavens, "that it's that same sort of logic that
incites a woman to play for a man until she catches him--and then throw
him overboard. O Lord," he continued, glancing at the sky devoutly, "why
couldn't you have made them nice and sensible?"

The widow took up her book with disdain.

"'Nice and sensible'" she repeated witheringly. "Just think how it
would feel to be called 'nice and sensible!' I wish," she added, turning
to her novel with an air of boredom, "that you would go and--talk to
Ethel Manners."

The bachelor eyed her narrowly.

"I guess I will," he said finally. "She seems more interesting--now that
you've explained her."

The widow stopped in the middle of a paragraph and looked up.

"And by Jove!" went on the bachelor reminiscently, turning to the window
again, "she did look dreamy in a sunbonnet and that little short skirt
this morning. She has adorable feet, you know."

The widow closed her book with a sharp snap, keeping her fingers between
the pages.

"_I_ know, Mr. Travers; but how did _you_ know?"

"I looked at them," confessed the bachelor frankly, "and her ankles--"

The widow's mouth closed in a straight line.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Travers," she remarked frigidly, "that you are not a
fit companion for a young girl like Ethel."

"I'm not equal to her," grinned the bachelor.

"No, you're not. She's a nice, sensible girl and----"

"Do you hate her very much?"

"Hate her?" The widow's eyes opened with astonishment.

"You called her 'nice and sensible.'"

"Bobby Taylor's looking for you, Ma