"Any—sugar?" demanded the bachelor. The widow shook her head smilingly. "No," she said, "I'm saving that for another——" "Another!"[117] [117] "Another time," said the widow ambiguously as she let the door close softly behind her. [118] [118] IX Her Way. Her Way "The Lord!" said the widow scornfully. "It isn't the Lord who makes husbands. It's the wife!" "And I always thought God made Adam," sighed the bachelor, humbly. "Adam," said the widow promptly, as she dropped another lump of sugar into her tea, "wasn't a husband. He was only a man. And a man is only—raw material. He is like a ready-made frock or a ready-made coat; he has got to be cut down and built up[119] and ironed out and taken in and to have all the raw edges trimmed off before he is properly——" [119] "Finished?" suggested the bachelor. The widow nodded cheerfully. "Yes," she agreed, "and adjusted to matrimony. And even then sometimes he is a dreadful botch." "And all his style is gone," sighed the bachelor.
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