“I was going to show you later on,” declared the other, regarding her carefully. “I was, really. I couldn't bear the idea of keeping a secret from you long.”
Mrs. Bowman smiled—a terrible smile. “The audacity of the man,” she broke out, “to stand there and lecture me on my behavior. To talk about his spoilt life, and all the time—”
She got up and walked about the room, angrily brushing aside the proffered attentions of Mr. Tucker.
“Laughing-stock of Trimington, is he?” she stormed. “He shall be more than that before I have done with him. The wickedness of the man; the artfulness!”
“That's what I thought,” said Mr. Tucker, shaking his head. “I said to him—”
“You're as bad,” said the widow, turning on him fiercely. “All the time you two men were talking at each other you were laughing in your sleeves at me. And I sat there like a child taking it all in, I've no doubt you met every night and arranged what you were to do next day.”
Mr. Tucker's lips twitched. “I would do more than that to win you, Amelia,” he said, humbly.
“You'll have to,” was the grim reply. “Now I want to hear all about this from the beginning. And don't keep anything from me, or it'll be the worse for you.”
She sat down again and motioned him to proceed.
“When I saw the advertisement in the Northtown Chronicle,” began Mr. Tucker, in husky voice, “I danced with—”