"Not me," said the widow promptly, "I always feel exhilarated after—after——"
"Afterwards," finished the bachelor helpfully. "But you're a woman. It's the man who has the 'tired feeling'."
"What is it like?" persisted the widow.
"Well," the bachelor flipped his cane thoughtfully, "did you ever eat a fourteen course dinner, and then go to Sherry's afterward for supper and then go to Delmonico's for a snack and to Rector's for——"
"I've been through it," sighed the widow.
"You didn't want any more, did you?" asked the bachelor sympathetically. "That's the way a man feels when he's had enough of love—or a woman."
"But—but love isn't indigestible."
"Too much of anything—love or dinner or champagne—is apt to take away your appetite. And too much of a woman is sure to make you hate the sight of her."
The widow's chatelaine was dancing madly in the afternoon sunlight.
"I don't suppose," she said witheringly, "that it would be possible for a woman to get too much of a man!"