“Higgins is out, sir,” she said, with a smile suggestive of vibratory massage.  “He went to post a letter.  Can I do anything for you, sir?”

“It’s time for my aconite,” said old Mr. Coulson.  “Drop it for me.  The bottle’s there.  Three drops.  In water.  D——­ that is, confound Higgins!  There’s nobody in this house cares if I die here in this chair for want of attention.”

Mrs. Widdup sighed deeply.

“Don’t be saying that, sir,” she said.  “There’s them that would care more than any one knows.  Thirteen drops, you said, sir?”

“Three,” said old man Coulson.

He took his dose and then Mrs. Widdup’s hand.  She blushed.  Oh, yes, it can be done.  Just hold your breath and compress the diaphragm.

“Mrs. Widdup,” said Mr. Coulson, “the springtime’s full upon us.”

“Ain’t that right?” said Mrs. Widdup.  “The air’s real warm.  And there’s bock-beer signs on every corner.  And the park’s all yaller and pink and blue with flowers; and I have such shooting pains up my legs and body.”

“‘In the spring,’” quoted Mr. Coulson, curling his mustache, “’a y——­ that is, a man’s—­fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.’”

“Lawsy, now!” exclaimed Mrs. Widdup; “ain’t that right?  Seems like it’s in the air.”

“‘In the spring,’” continued old Mr. Coulson, “’a livelier iris shines upon the burnished dove.’”

“They do be lively, the Irish,” sighed Mrs. Widdup pensively.

“Mrs. Widdup,” said Mr. Coulson, making a face at a twinge of his gouty foot, “this would be a lonesome house without you.  I’m an—­that is, I’m an elderly man—­but I’m worth a comfortable lot of money.  If half a million dollars’ worth of Government bonds and the true affection of a heart that, though no longer beating with the first ardour of youth, can still throb with genuine—­”

The loud noise of an overturned chair near the portieres of the adjoining room interrupted the venerable and scarcely suspecting victim of May.

In stalked Miss Van Meeker Constantia Coulson, bony, durable, tall, high-nosed, frigid, well-bred, thirty-five, in-the-neighbourhood-of-Gramercy-Parkish.  She put up a lorgnette.  Mrs. Widdup hastily stooped and arranged the bandages on Mr. Coulson’s gouty foot.

“I thought Higgins was with you,” said Miss Van Meeker Constantia.

“Higgins went out,” explained her father, “and Mrs. Widdup answered the bell.  That is better now, Mrs. Widdup, thank you.  No; there is nothing else I require.”

The housekeeper retired, pink under the cool, inquiring stare of Miss Coulson.

“This spring weather is lovely, isn’t it, daughter?” said the old man, consciously conscious.

“That’s just it,” replied Miss Van Meeker Constantia Coulson, somewhat obscurely.  “When does Mrs. Widdup start on her vacation, papa?”

“I believe she said a week from to-day,” said Mr. Coulson.