The widow did not answer. She had freed her hand from his, and covered her face with it. By and by she looked up again—he was waiting patiently.
"Well?"
"I will tell her."
He rose from his seat, and walked up and down the room. Then he came back, and leaning on the mantel-piece, stroked the yellow hide of Bose with his slipper.
"Make her quite understand that he wants her for his wife. She may live where she likes and how she likes, only it must be with him."
"I will tell her."
"Say he has grown old, but not cold; that he loves her now perhaps better than he did twenty years ago; that he has been faithful to her all through his life, and that he will be faithful till he dies."
The Californian broke off suddenly. The widow answered still, "I will tell her."
"And what do you think she will say?" he asked, in an altered tone.