otice
things about you that you never knew yourself, such as that your nose is
like Napoleon's or that you have a profile like E. H. Sothern and
shoulders like Hackett's and hair like Kyrle Bellew's. She never keeps
you waiting, but is always dressed and sitting in the parlor an hour
before you arrive and is never in a hurry to get home and will walk for
blocks beside you in the rain with her best hat on without caring. She
begins to 'mother' you----"

"To what?"

"To caution you about getting your feet wet and avoiding a draught and
wearing your overcoat and to look at you every time you leave her as if
she was afraid you would die before morning and--Mr. Travers, do you
know I believe this train has reached Jersey City?"

"Why--why--so it has! Waiter! Waiter! Where in thunder is that
blockhead? Why hasn't he brought us the rest of the dinner?"

"You forgot to order it!" said the widow, looking maliciously up under
her hat.

"Jersey City! Last stop!" called the conductor from the door.

The bachelor put down his napkin and rose.

"Check, sir?" asked the waiter, with accusing eyes.

"Were you forgetting to pay?" inquired the widow, softly.

The bachelor thrust a bill into the waiter's hands and started down the
aisle, followed by the widow.

"You forgot your change," remarked the widow, as they stepped into the
depot.

"Oh, never mind," said the bachelor. "Where are your wraps?"

The widow clutched his sleeve.

"I--I--left them in the dining car," she stammered.

The bachelor gazed down at the top of the violet hat with a triumphant
smile.

"Oh, do go back and try to get them!" moaned the widow glancing wildly
at the train, which by this time was being switched onto a side track.

"It will be at the risk of my life," declared the bachelor, "but if you
want--any more----"

"More--what?" asked the widow, distractedly.

"Proof," said the bachelor.

"It isn't necessary," said the widow, as she spied an excited porter
running toward them, clutching a pongee coat, a silver hand bag and a
violet parasol.

"These," said the bachelor, taking them tenderly from the porter and
tipping him, "are the most substantial signs of----"

"A lost head," said the widow quickly.

"Or a lost heart," added the bachelor, as they crossed the station and
stepped fatuously on to--the wrong ferryboat.

VII

A SHORT CUT.

"WHAT ought I to do," asked the widow, carefully licking all the gum off
the flap of a