inds
himself feeling lonesome and dreaming of furnished flats and stopping
to talk to babies in the street. He has the marrying fever then, and is
in no fit condition to pick out a wife and unless he is very careful he
is liable to marry the first girl who smiles at him. He should shut his
eyes tight and flee to the wilderness and not come back until he is
prepared to see women in their proper lights and their right
proportions."

"And then?" suggested the bachelor.

"Then," announced the widow oratorically, "he should choose a wife as he
would a dish at the table--not because he finds her attractive or
delicious or spicy, but--because he thinks she will agree with him."

"I see," added the bachelor, "and won't keep him awake nights," he
added.

The widow nodded.

"Nor give him a bitter taste in the mouth in the morning. A good wife is
like a dose of medicine--hard to swallow, but truly helpful. The girls
who wear frills and high heels and curly pompadours are like the salad
with the most dressing and garnishing, likely to be too rich and spicy,
while the plain little thing in the serge skirt, who never powders her
nose, may prove as sweet and wholesome--as--as home-made pudding."

"Or--home-made pickles," suggested the bachelor with wry face.

The widow shook her parasol at him admonishingly.

"Don't do that!" cried the bachelor.

"Do what?" inquired the widow in astonishment.

"Wave your frills in my eyes! I had just made up my mind to propose to
Miss Gunning and----"

The widow sat up perfectly straight.

"Do you really admire--a marble slab, Mr. Travers?"

"And your frills," pursued the bachelor, unmoved, "like salad
dressing----"

"I beg your pardon."

"Or garnishings----"

"Mr. Travers!"

"Might be merely a lure to make me take something which would disagree
with me."

The widow rose and looked coolly out over the waves.

"I can't see," she said, "why you should fancy there could be any
chance----"

"I don't," sighed the bachelor. "It isn't a matter of chance, but of
choice."

The ice in the widow's eyes melted into sun in a moment. She turned to
the bachelor impulsively.

"Why do you want to marry me?" she asked.

The bachelor rose and looked down at her critically.

"Well," he said, "for one thing, because you're just the woman I ought
not to marry."

"What!"

"You're too highly spiced----"

"Billy!"

"And you'd be sure not to agree with me----"

"Billy Travers!"

"An