Mr. Tucker sat bolt upright and gazed at him fixedly. “I wish you joy,” he said, in a hollow voice. “Thankee,” said Mr. Clark; “we expect to be pretty happy.” He smiled at Mrs. Bowman, but she made no response. Her looks wandered from one to the other—from the good-looking, interesting companion of her youth to the short, prosaic little man who was exulting only too plainly in his discomfiture. Mr. Tucker rose with a sigh. “Good-by,” he said, extending his hand. “You are not going—yet?” said the widow. Mr. Tucker’s low-breathed “I must” was just audible. The widow renewed her expostulations. “Perhaps he has got a train to catch,” said the thoughtful Mr. Clark. “No, sir,” said Mr. Tucker. “As a matter of fact, I had taken a room at the George Hotel for a week, but I suppose I had better get back home again.” “No; why should you?” said Mrs. Bowman, with a rebellious glance at Mr. Clark. “Stay, and come in and see me sometimes and talk over old times. And Mr. Clark will be glad to see you, I’m sure. Won’t you Nath—Mr. Clark?” “I shall be—delighted,” said Mr. Clark, staring hard at the mantelpiece. “De-lighted.” [Illustration: “On the third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out for a walk.”] Mr. Tucker thanked them both, and after groping for some time for the hand of Mr. Clark, who was still intent upon the mantelpiece, pressed it warmly and withdrew. Mrs. Bowman saw him to the door, and a low-voiced colloquy, in which Mr. Clark caught the word “afternoon,” ensued. By the time the widow returned to the room he was busy building with the draughts again. Mr. Tucker came the next day at three o’clock, and the day after at two. On the third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out for a walk, airily explaining to Mr. Clark, who met them on the way, that they had come out to call for him. The day after, when Mr. Clark met them returning from a walk, he was assured that his silence of the day before was understood to indicate a distaste for exercise. “And, you see, I like a long walk,” said Mrs. Bowman, “and you are not what I should call a good walker.” “You never used to complain,” said Mr. Clark; “in fact, it was generally you that used to suggest turning back.” “She wants to be amused as well,” remarked Mr. Tucker; “then she doesn’t feel the fatigue.” Mr. Clark glared at him, and then, shortly declining Mrs. Bowman’s invitation to accompany them home, on the ground that he required exercise, proceeded on his way. He carried himself so stiffly, and his manner was so fierce, that a well-meaning neighbor who had crossed the road to join him, and offer a little sympathy if occasion offered, talked of the weather for five minutes and inconsequently faded away at a corner.