“Just what I asked him,” said the other, “but he said that you were much too fond of him to give him up. He is not worthy of you, Amelia; he is fickle. He has got his eye on another lady.” “WHAT?” said the widow, with sudden loudness. Mr. Tucker nodded mournfully. “Miss Hackbutt,” he said, slowly. “I saw her the other day, and what he can see in her I can’t think.” “Miss Hackbutt?” repeated the widow in a smothered voice. “Miss—” She got up and began to pace the room again. “He must be blind,” said Mr. Tucker, positively. Mrs. Bowman stopped suddenly and stood regarding him. There was a light in her eye which made him feel anything but comfortable. He was glad when she transferred her gaze to the clock. She looked at it so long that he murmured something about going. “Good-by,” she said. Mr. Tucker began to repeat his excuses, but she interrupted him. “Not now,” she said, decidedly. “I’m tired. Good-night.” Mr. Tucker pressed her hand. “Good-night,” he said, tenderly. “I am afraid the excitement has been too much for you. May I come round at the usual time to-morrow?” “Yes,” said the widow. She took the advertisement from the table and, folding it carefully, placed it in her purse. Mr. Tucker withdrew as she looked up. He walked back to the “George” deep in thought, and over a couple of pipes in bed thought over the events of the evening. He fell asleep at last and dreamed that he and Miss Hackbutt were being united in the bonds of holy matrimony by the Rev. Nathaniel Clark. The vague misgivings of the previous night disappeared in the morning sunshine. He shaved carefully and spent some time in the selection of a tie. Over an excellent breakfast he arranged further explanations and excuses for the appeasement of Mrs. Bowman. He was still engaged on the task when he started to call on her. Half-way to the house he arrived at the conclusion that he was looking too cheerful. His face took on an expression of deep seriousness, only to give way the next moment to one of the blankest amazement. In front of him, and approaching with faltering steps, was Mr. Clark, and leaning trustfully on his arm the comfortable figure of Mrs. Bowman. Her brow was unruffled and her lips smiling. “Beautiful morning,” she said, pleasantly, as they met. “Lovely!” murmured the wondering Mr. Tucker, trying, but in vain, to catch the eye of Mr. Clark. “I have been paying an early visit,” said the widow, still smiling. “I surprised you, didn’t I, Nathaniel?” “You did,” said Mr. Clark, in an unearthly voice. “We got talking about last night,” continued the widow, “and Nathaniel started pleading with me to give him another chance. I suppose that I am softhearted, but he was so miserable—You were never so miserable in your life before, were you, Nathaniel?” “Never,” said Mr. Clark, in the same strange voice.