His momentary embarrassment, however, introduced another perturbation, for in glancing away for an instant to reassemble himself, so to speak, his eyes fell upon the clock, which at that very moment chimed the hour of eleven.
This was startling!
Dennis was familiar enough with social usage, or, at least, had the practical good sense to realize that he had exceeded the limits of good taste by an hour, and began to make disconcerted preparations for departure.
Perceiving his embarrassment, his companion relieved him with genial tact by asking: “And what about bosom No. 2? I want to hear the rest of that story.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Dennis, brightening, “when shall it be?”
“How will Wednesday evening suit?” suggested the widow.
And Dennis, with a mien which plainly indicated that he considered the time represented in the space that must elapse between the delightful present and the evening appointed embodied his views of a brief eternity, assured the widow that he would be on hand, and added: “I will not read a line until then.”
“Leave the story here, then, and I will put it away until you make your appearance. I promise, too, that I will not read it in the meantime,” and the widow received the remaining bosoms from Dennis with an extravagant show of gravity, which caused them both to laugh, in view of its absurd occasion, as she bestowed them in a music rack and turned to conduct him to the entrance.
“Good-by!” she said, and once more extended her hand, which Dennis received with an unmistakable indication of his appreciation of the exceptional favor.
“Good-by!” he responded as he prepared to descend the steps, “good-by!” and added to himself, with a fervor which conveyed some intimation of his sentiments if it did not suggest his words: