"Perhaps," he said insinuatingly, "because they can't get—somebody else."
"Nonsense," replied the widow poking her parasol emphatically into the sand. "With all the chance a man has——"
"Chance!" cried the bachelor scoffingly. "Chance! What chance has a man got after a woman makes up her mind to marry him?"
The widow dug the sand spitefully with the point of her violet sunshade.
"I didn't refer to the chance of escape," she replied, icily. "I was speaking of the chance of a choice."
"That's it!" cried the bachelor. "The selection is so great—the choice is so varied! Don't you know how it is when you have too many dress patterns or hats or rings to choose from? You find it difficult to settle on any one—so difficult, in fact, that you decide not to choose at all, but to keep them all dangling——"
"Or else just shut your eyes," interrupted the widow, "and put out your hand and grab something."
"CHANCE! what chance has a man got?"
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