CHAPTER II.

MIDDLE-AGED CUPID.

Being in ignorance of Tiffles’s sudden fortune, she was at a loss how to explain his defection.  She conjectured all things, and finally settled down to the conclusion that he was a coy young man, and had not been sufficiently encouraged by her.  She remembered instances where he had exhibited signs of ardor—­in one case so far as beginning to slip a hand around her waist—­and she had repelled him.  He was evidently waiting for some marked encouragement.  How foolishly prudish she had been!

One evening, as Wesley Tiffles was passing through the hall to the door, after a rattling hour with the three bachelors, he was confronted by Miss Wilkeson, who chanced to leave the front parlor on a journey up stairs at that moment.  She was dressed in a light silk, and her hair was carefully braided, and her face had a pink color in some parts, which contrasted well with the pallor in other parts; and her glass had told her that she was looking uncommonly youthful and charming.  She had carefully studied her part, which was to be a bold one, throwing off all reserve.

“Good evening, Mr. Tiffles,” said she, promptly offering her hand.

He took it with unsqueezing indifference.  She had expected that.

“Mr. Tiffles,” said she, with an air of youthful raillery, “you are a naughty man, and I had an idea of not speaking to you again.”

“Naughty!” said Tiffles, astonished.  “How?”

“Why, you have hardly been civil to me, of late.  I do believe you wouldn’t speak, or shake hands with me, if I didn’t always set the example.”  This in a half-complaining, half-laughing way.

It suddenly flashed upon Tiffles that he had been, for some time, rather neglectful of the lady.  It also forcibly occurred to him that it was wise policy to be on good terms, at all times, with the mistress of the house; and such was Miss Wilkeson’s present position.  He therefore clutched her hand again, gave it a faint squeeze, and said that he apologized a million times for his rudeness; but the fact was, he had so much business on hand, that he had been turned into a perfect bear, he supposed.  He playfully challenged Miss Wilkeson to step into the parlor and take a glass of wine, and he would show her that he was not the brute she fancied.

Miss Wilkeson laughingly accepted the challenge.  “But I do believe,” she added, “that it is only the glass of wine you care for.  Now tell me, Mr. Tiffles, aren’t you a woman hater?”

“When a man is asked that question, categorically, by a woman, his most effective answer is to make love to her out of hand.  Tiffles was not prepared to do this in the present case, but he was willing to pay compliments to any extent.

“Ah, Miss Wilkeson, there you do me great injustice,” said he, with his pleasantest of laughs.  “I drink this glass of wine to ‘lovely woman,’” with a nod at Miss Wilkeson.