"And you have to be very sure that he fits your disposition."
"And matches your taste."
"And that he won't pinch on the bank account."
"And that the other woman hasn't botched him."
"And even then he's a hand-me-down—and may shrink or run or—"
"Oh, widowers don't shrink or run," retorted the widow. "Matrimony is a habit with them, and they feel like a cab-horse out of harness without it. They long to feel the bit between their teeth and the gentle hand on the reins——"
"And the basting threads," added the bachelor. "I wonder what it's like," he went on, meditatively.
"You'll never know," said the widow, setting her cup on the tabourette. "You're too old."
"Yes, I've got my second teeth," sighed the bachelor.