conclusiveness, the young man decided to accept it as a working theory
and to act, win or lose, do or die, upon the hopeful hypothesis that his
delightful but elusive companion was a li--that is to say, an inventor.
He would give that invention the run of its young life!

"We--ell," the Mordaunt Estate was saying, "that's too bad. Ain't a
widdah lady are you?"

"My husband is in France."

With a prayer that his theory was correct, the young man rushed in where
many an angel might have feared to tread. "Maybe he'll stay there,"
he surmised.

"What!"

In a musical but unappreciated barytone he hummed the initial line of
"The Girl I Left Behind Me."

"'The maids of France are fond and free.'

"Besides," he added, "it's quite unhealthy there at this season. I
wouldn't be surprised"--he halted--"at anything," he finished darkly.

Outraged by this ruthless if hypothetical murder of an equally
hypothetical spouse, she groped vainly for adequate words. Before she
could find them--

"I'll wait around--in hopes," he decided calmly.