He called almost every evening when he had finished his work, and they sat on the porch in the swing if there was no one, and when there happened to be, they sat in the parlor on the davenport. And when they did so, it so happened they began to flirt. And this continued to develop until it reached a point she declared to be outrageous. And yet it persisted. At such times, moreover, she became bold. There came a time when she was almost disgusted with herself for being so weak. After a few weeks had passed, she came to realize that her quest was in vain. Sidney Wyeth had no affection, beyond flirting, with her. And then she began to grow otherwise. He observed the change, and was sorry, perhaps. Still, Miss Palmer did not give up entirely. She was not that kind of person. After all, to kiss him and to be kissed in return, was some pastime. It was better than not being kissed or loved at all. So she flirted. After this became the usual thing in their acquaintance, she began to assert other dispositions that had not before been evident. She inquired boldly where he went when he didn't call in the evening, as usual. She dictated where he should go as well. In desperation she continued her tactics--even to a point where our pen is constrained to relate. "Do you know," said she one evening, when they had flirted shamefully. "I'm beginning to care for you." She said this from his knee. "I did not," he sighed. He was not the least excited by her acknowledgement. "I am," she affirmed. "More and more as the days go by." She smiled into his face, while he looked tired. "Have you anyone back where you came from, who loves you and calls you her all?" she asked now, as though she could think of nothing else to say. "No, no, no!" He looked distressed. "I wish I had," he added. "I know you tell what is not true--feel you do," she corrected. After a pause she said: "Do you happen to have just a little, only a little regard for me?" He made light of it by blowing her a kiss, and tried to change the conversation, but she had more to say. "Of course you wouldn't love an old grass-widow like me anyhow," she pouted. He was at a loss what to say, so said nothing. "Why don't you say something?" she said, put out. "You should not make such remarks," he said, with a frown. "But it's true, it's true, and you can't deny it." She seemed angry now, and didn't appear to care what she said. She left his knee with a last retort. "And you men are the cause of it all." He leaned his head against the back of the davenport and closed his eyes, which angered her, and she cried: "Go to sleep, go to sleep. You are the worst person I ever knew," and forthwith she left the room. CHAPTER THIRTEEN _Enter--Mr. Tom Toddy!_