"And your frills," pursued the bachelor, unmoved, "like salad dressing——"
"I beg your pardon."
"Or garnishings——"
"Mr. Travers!"
"Might be merely a lure to make me take something which would disagree with me."
The widow rose and looked coolly out over the waves.
"I can't see," she said, "why you should fancy there could be any chance——"
"I don't," sighed the bachelor. "It isn't a matter of chance, but of choice."
The ice in the widow's eyes melted into sun in a moment. She turned to the bachelor impulsively.
"Why do you want to marry me?" she asked.