He sat up with a jerk. "How did you--what makes you think so?"

"That was a married kiss--a two-year-old married kiss, at least. No
boy would get as excited as that about kissing an old stager like me.
The chances are you're out of practise. I knew that if it wasn't teeth
or impediment it must be morals. And it is."

She moved over on the bench until she was close beside him. "Now,
listen to me, boy." She leaned forward, impressively. "Are you
listening?"

"Yes," answered the handsome young devil, sullenly.

"What I've got to say to you isn't so much for your sake, as for your
wife's. I was married when I was eighteen, and stayed married eight
years. I've had my divorce ten years, and my boy is seventeen years
old. Figure it out. How old is Ann?"

"I don't believe it," he flashed back. "You're not a day over twenty-
six--anyway, you don't look it. I--"

"Thanks," drawled Emma. "That's because you've never seen me in
negligee. A woman's as old as she looks with her hair on the dresser
and bed only a few minutes away. Do you know why I was decent to you
in the first place? Because I was foolish enough to think that you
reminded me of my own kid. Every fond mama is gump enough to think
that every Greek god she sees looks like her own boy, even if her own
happens to squint and have two teeth missing--which mine hasn't, thank
the Lord! He's the greatest young--Well, now, look here, young 'un.