“Which her name is Delatour,--the widder Delatour,--ez she has herself give me permission to tell you,” continued Mr. Bowers, with a certain abstracted and automatic precision that dissipated any suggestion of malice in the reversed situation. “Delatour!--a widow!” repeated the editor. “With five children,” continued Mr. Bowers. Then, with unalterable gravity, he briefly gave an outline of her condition and the circumstances of his acquaintance with her. “But I reckoned YOU might have known suthin' o' this; though she never let on you did,” he concluded, eying the editor with troubled curiosity. The editor did not think it necessary to implicate Mr. Hamlin. He said, briefly, “I? Oh, no!” “Of course, YOU might not have seen her?” said Mr. Bowers, keeping the same grave, troubled gaze on the editor. “Of course not,” said the editor, somewhat impatient under the singular scrutiny of Mr. Bowers; “and I'm very anxious to know how she looks. Tell me, what is she like?” “She is a fine, pow'ful, eddicated woman,” said Mr. Bowers, with slow deliberation. “Yes, sir,--a pow'ful woman, havin' grand ideas of her own, and holdin' to 'em.” He had withdrawn his eyes from the editor, and apparently addressed the ceiling in confidence. “But what does she look like, Mr. Bowers?” said the editor, smiling. “Well, sir, she looks--LIKE--IT! Yes,”--with deliberate caution,--“I should say, just like it.” After a pause, apparently to allow the editor to materialize this ravishing description, he said, gently, “Are you busy just now?” “Not very. What can I do for you?” “Well, not much for ME, I reckon,” he returned, with a deeper respiration, that was his nearest approach to a sigh, “but suthin' perhaps for yourself and--another. Are you married?” “No,” said the editor, promptly. “Nor engaged to any--young lady?”--with great politeness. “No.” “Well, mebbe you think it a queer thing for me to say,--mebbe you reckon you KNOW it ez well ez anybody,--but it's my opinion that White Violet is in love with you.” “With me?” ejaculated the editor, in a hopeless astonishment that at last gave way to an incredulous and irresistible laugh. A slight touch of pain passed over Mr. Bowers's dejected face, but left the deep outlines set with a rude dignity. “It's SO,” he said, slowly, “though, as a young man and a gay feller, ye may think it's funny.” “No, not funny, but a terrible blunder, Mr. Bowers, for I give you my word I know nothing of the lady and have never set eyes upon her.”