"Well," the bachelor flipped his cane thoughtfully, "did you ever eat a fourteen course dinner, and then go to Sherry's afterward for supper and[103] then go to Delmonico's for a snack and to Rector's for——" [103] "I've been through it," sighed the widow. "You didn't want any more, did you?" asked the bachelor sympathetically. "That's the way a man feels when he's had enough of love—or a woman." "But—but love isn't indigestible." "Too much of anything—love or dinner or champagne—is apt to take away your appetite. And too much of a woman is sure to make you hate the sight of her." The widow's chatelaine was dancing madly in the afternoon sunlight. "I don't suppose," she said witheringly, "that it would be possible for a woman to get too much of a man!" "No," agreed the bachelor cheerfully,[104] as he squinted at another pair of pretty ankles, "women are sentimental topers. They sip their wine or their sentiment slowly and comfortably; they don't gulp it down like a man. That's why the man has usually finished the bottle before the woman has touched her glass. He is ready to turn out the lights and put an end to the affair just as she has begun to get really interested. But," and the bachelor turned suddenly upon the widow, "who is the man? Show him to me!" and he brought his cane down fiercely on the sidewalk. [104] "Wh-what man?" asked the widow, turning pink to the tips of her ears. "The man who has jilt—gotten over it. I don't see how it's possible,"[105] he added thoughtfully, "with you." [105] "Me!" The widow's voice was as chill and crisp as the autumn air. "I wish," she added musingly, "that I knew how to patch it up." "That's right!" retorted the bachelor. "Try to revive his interest in champagne by offering it to him—the morning after. What he needs, my dear lady, is—ice. When he has had a little ice and a little tabasco sauce——" "He may want more champagne?" asked the widow hopefully. "Yes," replied the bachelor, swinging his cane cheerfully, "but not from the same bottle. Will
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