"Well," began Heriot, "the simple fact of the matter is that I am growing rapidly younger."
"Ah?" commented Mr. Brown.
It was curious that he should exchange a quick glance, not with the lady whose interests he was representing, but with her errant lover's faithful son.
"Yes," said Mr. Walkingshaw, warming to his narrative, "I am literally racing backwards. It is like a drive over a road one has passed along before, only in the opposite direction and much faster. I simply whizz past the old milestones. Now, a man who is behaving like that has no business to marry an already mature lady, who is growing older at the rate of, say one, while he is growing younger at the rate of, say ten; has he, Mr. Brown?"
"No," replied Mr. Brown emphatically, "I honestly don't think he has."
Heriot was delighted with this confirmation of his judgment. He threw a glance at the widow to see how she took it, but her eyes were cast down, and she displayed no emotion whatever.
"That's the long and the short of the matter, Mr. Brown. I make the profoundest apologies to my charming relative; but if you agree that I acted for the best, I suppose we might as well adjourn and have a cup of tea."
"Just one moment," said Mr. Brown gently. "I should like to have a few more particulars regarding this very interesting phenomenon, if you don't mind."
"Not a bit, my dear sir. It's a very natural curiosity."