"Who said you were?" demanded the bachelor suddenly. The widow started and turned pink to her chin.[163] [163] "Oh—nobody—that is, several people, Mr. Travers." "Had you refused them?" asked the bachelor thoughtfully. The widow blushed a deeper pink and bent over her pale green rose so low that the bachelor could not see her eyes. "Why—that is—I don't see what that has to do with it." "It has everything to do with," replied the bachelor positively. "And you haven't told me yet," continued the widow, suddenly changing the subject, "whom you consider the ideal woman." "Don't you know?" asked the bachelor insinuatingly. The widow shook her head without lifting her eyes.[164] [164] "Well, then, she is—but so many of them have told you." "You haven't," persisted the widow. The bachelor sighed and rose to go. "The ideal woman," he said, as he slipped on his gloves, "is—the woman you can't get. Is that the firelight playing on your pompadour?" he added, looking down upon the widow through half-closed eyes. "Do you know—for a moment—I thought it was a halo." [165] [165] XII New Year's Irresolutions.
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