For some unknown reason the beautiful woman was dressed entirely in black with the exception of some exquisite traceries in white about her throat and wrists. Had his life depended upon it Dennis could never have described the fabric of her gown. He only knew that it was distinguished by a sort of subdued sheen; that it rustled with an entrancing swish and suggestion of femininity as she moved, and that it was adjusted to her shapely figure as though her delightful personality had been moulded into it. A slim wonder of a white hand was extended to him, a bright smile illumed her bewildering eyes and bent the Cupid bow of her lips into a curve which sent an intangible arrow into the young man's heart as she said with musical simplicity: "I am glad to see you." To this Dennis made no direct reply. His eyes gleamed their idealized eloquence, however; his attitude presented unmistakable shades of deference, and to save himself further revelation he collapsed into the chair indicated by his hostess. Apparently the widow extracted the same enjoyment from these ingenuous acknowledgments as ever, for she did not immediately resume the conversation. Fortunately, Dennis assembled himself, so to speak, and realized his psychological moment. "Shure," he said as he became aware of his involuntary self-revelations, "'shure, an' you would know that I am glad to see you if I was deaf and dumb." The widow laughed heartily at this, as she replied: "I'm afraid that you have kissed the blarney stone, Mr. Muldoon." Having no response for this, Dennis substituted: "I saw you at the theater last night," and a palpable degree of joy left his countenance at the announcement. "Ah!" exclaimed the widow, regarding him curiously. "Where were you?" "In th' lobby," replied Dennis unblushingly. "What did you think of the performance?" asked his companion after a moment. Dennis looked her directly in the eyes with the light of inspiration in his glance as he said: "I did not see it." The widow gazed at the young man for one searching moment, reddened slightly, and, rising, proceeded to the music rack, from which she extracted bosoms Nos. 2 and 3. "Suppose we read the story," was her reply. As the widow extended the bosoms toward him, Dennis could not avoid the thought which had presented itself to him on the day before, that this woman had not only two bosoms of his in her possession, but his heart as well; and a certain degree of the animation of this reflection found its way into his eyes. "Well," inquired this observing woman, "what is it?" Dennis flushed as he replied: "I'll tell you by-and-by," and added: "Will you do me a great favor?" "What is it?" she asked. "Why," answered Dennis, "I would like to hear you read bosom No. 2." "Why?" "Well," replied the young man, with a sincerity that was unmistakable, "I think it would sound like a song then."