"Woman proposes, and man disposes," I laughed. "He escaped in spite of
you."

She looked at me queerly.

"Only a jest," I said hurriedly; "your escape is the one to be thankful
for. You might have married him, like the young woman in The Sybarites.
You remember, do you not, that the hero of that book sacrifices himself
for the lady who adores him, but whom he has ceased to adore?"

"Yes, I remember," she laughed; "I believe I know that book by heart."

"Think of the countless girls he must have relieved of their affections
before their eyes were opened," I continued with mock gravity. "Think of
the charred trail he has left behind him. A man of that sort ought to be
put under heavy bonds not to break any more hearts. But a kleptomaniac
isn't responsible, you understand. And it isn't worth while to bear any
malice."

"Oh, I don't bear any malice now," she said. "I did at first,
naturally. But it all seems very ridiculous now I have had time to think
it over. I believe, Mr. Crocker, that I never really cared for him."

"Simply an idol shattered this time," I suggested, "and not a heart
broken."

"Yes, that's it," said she.

"I am glad to hear it," said I, much pleased that she had taken such a