"MRS. FLANDERS"-"Poor Betty Flanders"-"Dear Betty"-"She's very attractive still"-"Odd she don't marry again " "There's Captain Barfoot to be sure-calls every Wednesdayas regular as clockwork, and never brings his wife.""But that's Ellen Barfoot's fault," the ladies of Scarborough said. "She don't put herself outfor no one.""A man likes to have a son-that we know.""Some tumours have to be cut; but the sort my mother had you bear with for years andyears, and never even have a cup of tea brought up to you in bed."(Mrs. Barfoot was an invalid.)Elizabeth Flanders, of whom this and much more than this had been said and would besaid, was, of course, a widow in her prime. She was half-way between forty and fifty. Yearsand sorrow between them; the death of Seabrook, her husband; three boys; poverty; ahouse on the outskirts of Scarborough; her brother, poor Morty's, downfall and possibledemise-for where was he? what was he? Shading her eyes, she looked along the road forCaptain Barfoot-yes, there he was, punctual as ever; the attentions of the Captain-allripened Betty Flanders, enlarged her figure, tinged her face with jollity, and flooded hereyes for no reason that any one could see perhaps three times a day.True, there's no harm in crying for one's husband, and the tombstone, though plain, was asolid piece of work, and on summer's days when the widow brought her boys to standthere one felt kindly towards her. Hats were raised higher than usual; wives tugged theirhusbands' arms. Seabrook lay six foot beneath, dead these many years; enclosed in threeshells; the crevices sealed with lead, so that, had earth and wood been glass, doubtless hisvery face lay visible beneath, the face of a young man whiskered, shapely, who had gone outduck-shooting and refused to change his boots."Merchant of this city," the tombstone said; though why Betty Flanders had chosen so tocall him when, as many still remembered, he had only sat behind an office window for threemonths, and before that had broken horses, ridden to hounds, farmed a few fields, and runa little wild-well, she had to call him something. An example for the boys.