What Anne was looking for--now, keep your seat, my boy!--what she wanted was a husband who could be depended upon to leave her a widow before it was too late.

Now, I am seventy-seven, and failing pretty rapidly.

It occurred to me that I would be just the thing for her.

To make the story short, I began to dilate upon my great loneliness, and also hinted that if I could find the right sort of companion I would jump at the chance to get married.

That's putting it rather coarsely, my boy, but the whole business is so ugly that it doesn't seem worth while to affect delicacy.