"What did she say about me?" inquired the widow, eagerly.
"Only that she was older than you."
"Mercy, I should think she was. Why, she's forty if she's a day. Don't you think so?"
"I am no judge of ladies' ages."
"I am glad you are not. Not that I am sensitive about my own. I am perfectly willing to own that I am twenty seven."
"I thought you said twenty-nine, the other evening?"
"True, I am twenty-nine, but I said twenty-seven to see if you would remember. I suppose gentlemen are never sensitive about their ages."
"I don't know. I am twenty-six, and wish I were thirty-six."
"Mercy, what a strange wish! How can you possibly wish that you were older."