rion," called Miss Manners, glancing
in at the door suddenly.

"Well, goodby. I'm off," said the bachelor, following the swish of Miss
Manners's skirts with his eyes, as she hurried away down the hall.

"Sit down, Mr. Travers!" commanded the widow in an awful tone.

At that moment a buoyant young man poked his head in at the door.

"Go way, Bobby," said the widow. "Mr. Travers and I are
discussing--er--psychology."

"Ugh!" remarked Bobby, dutifully withdrawing, "why do you do it, if it
hurts?"

The bachelor looked up at the widow under the tail of his eyelid.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

But the widow's underlip was curled into a distinct pout and her eyes
met his reproachfully. She dabbed them effectively with the end of her
lace handkerchief.

"Of c-course it does," she said with a little choke in her voice, "when
you have been here three whole days and have never noticed me and have
spent every minute of your time trailing around after
that--that--little--"

"But wasn't that what you invited me for?" exclaimed the bachelor
helplessly.

"Of course it was," acknowledged the widow, "but--but I didn't think
you'd do it."

The bachelor gazed at her a moment in blank amazement. Then a gleam of
enlightenment came into his eyes and he leaned over and caught her
fingers.

"Look here, Marion," he said gently, "you invited me down here to fling
that girl at my head. If you didn't want me to fall in love with her,
what did you want?"

"I wanted you to get enough of her!" explained the widow, smiling
through her lace handkerchief.

"Well--I have. I've got too much!" vowed the bachelor fervently.

The widow laughed softly and complacently.

"That's just what I knew would happen," she said, closing her novel and
flinging it onto the couch.

Then she added, looking up quizzically:

"A woman always has a reason--if you can only find out what it is."

IV

THE WIDOW'S RIVAL.

"WHY," said the widow, gazing thoughtfully at the ruby-faced woman with
the gigantic waist-line, who sat beside the meek little man on the bench
opposite, "do men marry--those?"

The bachelor glanced into the violet eyes beneath the violet hat.

"Perhaps," he said insinuatingly, "because they can't get--somebody
else."

"Nonsense," replied the widow poking her parasol emphatically into the
sand. "With all the chance a man has----"

"Chance!" cried the bachelor scoffingly. "Chance! What chance has a man
got after a woman