"It's lucky," she said coldly, "that you escaped—a woman like—that!"
"But I haven't," protested the bachelor, laying down his paddle and leaning forward so that the ends of the widow's chiffon veil blew in his face. "She was the spice in life's pudding, the flavor, the sauce, the stimulant, the——"
"This canoe is tipping dreadfully," remarked the widow, but the disapproval had disappeared from her eyes.
"She was——"
"Why, I do believe it's growing dark, Mr. Travers."
"It is," agreed the bachelor. "Nobody can see——"
"See—what?" asked the widow, suddenly sitting up straight and fixing the bachelor with her eyes.
"How perfectly adorable and unfathomable and tumultuous——"
"Are you feeding me sugar, Mr. Travers?"
"Perhaps," acknowledged the bachelor, leaning back and picking up the paddle again, "but some day, when I'm ready, I'm going to stop feeding you sugar. I'm going to put on the curb bit."