"Or of how you acquired your breath or lost your watch."

"The trouble is," sighed the widow, "that no man would ever be broad
enough or generous enough to make such a proposition."

"And no woman would ever be sensible enough to listen to it."

"Nonsense. Any woman would. It's just the sort of thing we've been
longing for."

"Well," said the bachelor, turning on his back and looking up at the
widow speculatively, "let me see--you could have the violet room."

"What!" exclaimed the widow.

"It's got a good south view," protested the bachelor, "and besides it's
not over the kitchen."

"What on earth do you mean?" The widow sat up straight and her bangles
jingled warningly.

"And you could have Saturday and Wednesday evenings out. Those are my
club nights."

"How dare you!"

"And any salary you might ask--"

"What are you talking about, Billy Travers?"

[Illustration: "YOU'VE taken all the poetry out of it." _Page 72_]

"I'm making you a proposal of marriage," explained the bachelor in an
injured tone. "Don't you recognize it?"

The widow rose silently, lifted the sheet of paper in her hands and tore
it to pieces.

"Was that your poem?" inquired the bachelor as he watched the breeze
carry the fragments away over the grass.

The widow shook out her ruffles and picked up her hat.

"You've taken all the poetry out of it," she retorted, as she fled
toward the house.

The bachelor looked after her undecidedly for a moment. Then he leaned
back lazily and blinked up at the sky between the leaves.

"And this," he said softly, "is the white man's burden."

VI

SIGNS AND COUNTERSIGNS OF LOVE.

"IF there were only some way," began the bachelor, gazing thoughtfully
out of the window of the dining car, "in which a fellow could prove his
love----"

"There are millions of them!" declared the widow, sipping her consomme
daintily.

"Those mediaeval fellows had such an advantage over us," complained the
bachelor. "When a chap loved a girl, all he had to do to prove it was to
get another chap to say he didn't, and then to break the other chap's
head. That was a sure sign."

"And it was so easy," remarked the widow.

"Yes," agreed the bachelor, enthusiastically. "Is there anybody whose
head you particularly want broken? I feel remarkably like fighting."

"Of course, you do," said the widow sympathetically. "The fighting
spirit is born in every man. But duelling isn't a sign of love; it's a
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