“I will return your presents to-morrow,” said Mr. Clark, rising. “Good-by, forever!” He paused at the door, but Mrs. Bowman did not look up. A second later the front door closed and she heard him walk rapidly away. For some time after his departure she preserved a silence which Mr. Tucker endeavored in vain to break. He took a chair by her side, and at the third attempt managed to gain possession of her hand. “I deserved all he said,” she cried, at last. “Poor fellow, I hope he will do nothing desperate.” “No, no,” said Mr. Tucker, soothingly. “His eyes were quite wild,” continued the widow. “If anything happens to him I shall never forgive myself. I have spoilt his life.” Mr. Tucker pressed her hand and spoke of the well-known refining influence a hopeless passion for a good woman had on a man. He cited his own case as an example. “Disappointment spoilt my life so far as worldly success goes,” he said, softly, “but no doubt the discipline was good for me.” Mrs. Bowman smiled faintly, and began to be a little comforted. Conversation shifted from the future of Mr. Clark to the past of Mr. Tucker; the widow’s curiosity as to the extent of the latter’s worldly success remaining unanswered by reason of Mr. Tucker’s sudden remembrance of a bear-fight. Their future was discussed after supper, and the advisability of leaving Trimington considered at some length. The towns and villages of England were at their disposal; Mr. Tucker’s business, it appeared, being independent of place. He drew a picture of life in a bungalow with modern improvements at some seaside town, and, the cloth having been removed, took out his pocket-book and, extracting an old envelope, drew plans on the back. It was a delightful pastime and made Mrs. Bowman feel that she was twenty and beginning life again. She toyed with the pocket-book and complimented Mr. Tucker on his skill as a draughtsman. A letter or two fell out and she replaced them. Then a small newspaper cutting, which had fluttered out with them, met her eye. “A little veranda with roses climbing up it,” murmured Mr. Tucker, still drawing, “and a couple of—” His pencil was arrested by an odd, gasping noise from the window. He looked up and saw her sitting stiffly in her chair. Her face seemed to have swollen and to be colored in patches; her eyes were round and amazed. “Aren’t you well?” he inquired, rising in disorder. Mrs. Bowman opened her lips, but no sound came from them. Then she gave a long, shivering sigh. “Heat of the room too much for you?” inquired the other, anxiously. Mrs. Bowman took another long, shivering breath. Still incapable of speech, she took the slip of paper in her trembling fingers and an involuntary exclamation of dismay broke from Mr. Tucker. She dabbed fiercely at her burning eyes with her handkerchief and read it again.