When he went out of his house, at the close of his interviews with Talbot and Mrs. Belcher, it was without a definitely formed purpose to visit the charming widow.  He simply knew that his heart was hungry.  The sun-flower is gross, but it knows the sun as well as the morning-glory, and turns to it as naturally.  It was with like unreasoning instinct that he took the little book from its drawer, put on his hat, went down his steps, and entered the street that led him toward Mrs. Dillingham’s house.  He could not keep away from her.  He would not if he could, and so, in ten minutes, he was seated with her, vis a vis.

“You have been unfortunate, Mr. Belcher,” she said, sympathetically.  “I am very sorry for you.  It is not so bad as I heard, I am sure.  You are looking very well.”

“Oh! it is one of those things that may happen any day, to any man, operating as I do,” responded Mr. Belcher, with a careless laugh.  “The General never gets in too deep.  He is just as rich to-day as he was when he entered the city.”

“I’m so glad to hear it—­gladder than I can express,” said Mrs. Dillingham, with heartiness.

Her effusiveness of good feeling and her evident relief from anxiety, were honey to him.

“Don’t trouble yourself about me,” said he, musingly.  “The General knows what he’s about, every time.  He has the advantage of the rest of them, in his regular business.”

“I can’t understand how it is,” responded Mrs. Dillingham, with fine perplexity.  “You men are so different from us.  I should think you would be crazy with your losses.”

Now, Mr. Belcher wished to impress Mrs. Dillingham permanently with a sense of his wisdom, and to inspire in her an inextinguishable faith in his sagacity and prudence.  He wanted her to believe in his power to retain all the wealth he had won.  He would take her into his confidence.  He had never done this with relation to his business, and under that treatment she had drifted away from him.  Now that he found how thoroughly friendly she was, he would try another method, and bind her to him.  The lady read him as plainly as if he had been a book, and said: 

“Oh, General!  I have ascertained something that may be of use to you.  Mr. Benedict is living.  I had a letter from his boy this morning—­dear little fellow—­and he tells me how well his father is, and how pleasant it is to be with him again.”

Mr. Belcher frowned.

“Do you know I can’t quite stomach your whim—­about that boy?  What under heaven do you care for him?”

“Oh, you mustn’t touch that whim, General,” said Mrs. Dillingham, laughing.  “I am a woman, and I have a right to it.  He amuses me, and a great deal more than that.  I wouldn’t tell you a word about him, or what he writes to me, if I thought it would do him any harm.  He’s my pet.  What in the world have I to do but to pet him?  How shall I fill my time?  I’m tired of society, and disgusted with men—­at least, with my old acquaintances—­and I’m fond of children.  They do me good.  Oh, you mustn’t touch my whim!”