“For John’s sake,” I said.

“As to John,” he answered, “I never heard him say he was particular anxious for you to take another, and many husbands feel rather strong on that subject, as you can see when you hear their wills after they be gone; but as poor John hadn’t nothing to leave, he couldn’t make no conditions to hamper your freedom of action, and for my part I see no reason why you shouldn’t marry Gregory Sweet if you want to.”

“I do,” I said.  “He’s a man you could trust, and you put safety first at my time of life.”

Well, Arthur dallied a bit and didn’t throw himself into it exactly; but none the less, before I left him he promised to do his part and make Mr. Sweet jealous if he could without casting any reflections upon himself.

For I found that Arthur had his share of caution also, and before we parted he made me sign a paper acknowledging the cabal in secret against Greg.

“You shall have it back the day he offers for you,” promised Arthur Parable, “and I only require it so that if any hard things was said of me, or I was accused of toying with your finer feelings, or anything like that, I can show by chapter and verse under your signature that the man’s a liar.  And meantime I’ll sound your praises if I see Sweet and say you’d teach him the meaning of true happiness, and so on.  And I’ll come to tea Sunday.”

Well, I thanked the man from my heart and since one good turn called for another I asked after him and his girl and hoped Minnie was being a kindly daughter to him and so on.  But he didn’t speak very fatherly of her.

“She’s a melancholy cat in a house,” he said, “and women will be melancholy in her stage of life.  She’s terrible wishful to leave me and find a husband—­so set on it as yourself—­but of course with no chance whatsoever; for no self-respecting man would ever look at a creature like her.  As a rule, with her pattern, they have got sense enough to give up hope and take what Nature sends ’em in a patient spirit.  But not Minnie.  Hope won’t die and, in a word, she’s a plaguey piece and she’s got a sharp tongue too, and when I’m too old to hold my own she’ll give me hell.”

“Why don’t she go into one of them institutions?” I asked, “There’s plenty of places where good work is being done by ugly, large-hearted women, looking after natural childer, or nursing rich folk, and so on.  Then she’d be helping the world along and forget herself and lay up treasure where moth and rust don’t corrupt.”

“You ax her,” answered Arthur.  “You give her a hint.  I’d pay good money to man or woman who could tempt her away from looking after me.  And if she thought I was minded to take another wife, I’d get the ugly edge of her tongue up home to my vitals, so us must watch out.”

“Don’t you let her in the secret, however,” I prayed the man, “because if she knew she’d spoil all.”

“Fear nothing,” he answered; “I can take her measure.”