not a fool ever to think of wanting to take care of me.

"I believe," remembered Miss Ramsbotham, "if it does not sound like
idle boasting, I might have had a husband, of a kind, if Fate had
not compelled me to save his life. I met him one year at Huyst, a
small, quiet watering-place on the Dutch coast. He would walk
always half a step behind me, regarding me out of the corner of his
eye quite approvingly at times. He was a widower--a good little
man, devoted to his three charming children. They took an immense
fancy to me, and I really think I could have got on with him. I am
very adaptable, as you know. But it was not to be. He got out of
his depth one morning, and unfortunately there was no one within
distance but myself who could swim. I knew what the result would
be. You remember Labiche's comedy, Les Voyage de Monsieur
Perrichon? Of course, every man hates having had his life saved,
after it is over; and you can imagine how he must hate having it
saved by a woman. But what was I to do? In either case he would
be lost to me, whether I let him drown or whether I rescued him.
So, as it really made no difference, I rescued him. He was very
grateful, and left the next morning.

"It is my destiny. No man has ever fallen in love with me, and no
man ever will. I used to worry myself about it when I was younger.
As a child I hugged to my bosom for years an observation I had
overheard an aunt of mine whisper to my mother one afternoon as
they sat knitting and talking, not thinking I was listening. 'You
never can tell,' murmured my aunt, keeping her eyes carefully fixed
upon her needles; 'children change so. I have known the plainest
girls grow up into quite beautiful women. I should not worry about
it if I were you--not yet awhile.' My mother was not at all a bad-