"Eudora," the man went on, "you know you always used to run away
from me--never gave me a chance to really ask; and I thought you
didn't care. But somehow I have wondered--perhaps because you
never got married--if you didn't quite mean it, if you didn't
quite know your own mind. You'll think I'm a conceited ass, but
I'm not a bad sort, Eudora. I would be as good to you as I know
how, and--we could bring him up together." He pointed to the
carriage. "I have plenty of money. We could do anything we
wanted to do for him, and we should not have to live alone. Say,
Eudora, you may not think it's the thing for a man to own up to,
but, hang it all! I'm alone, and I don't want to face the rest of
my life alone. Eudora, do you think you could make up your mind
to marry me, after all?"

They had reached the turn in the road. Just beyond rose the
stately pile of the old Yates mansion. Eudora stood still and
gave one desperate look at her lover. "I will let you know
Thursday," she gasped. Then she was gone, trundling the baby-
carriage with incredible speed.

"But, Eudora --"

"I must go," she called back, faintly. The man stood staring
after the hurrying figure with its swishing black skirts and its
flying points of rich India shawl, and he smiled happily and
tenderly. That evening at the inn his caller, a young fellow
just married and beaming with happiness, saw an answering beam in
the older man's face. He broke off in the midst of a sentence
and stared at him.