"Heard you were here," continued the Honourable John; "so I thought I would come up and look after you. Going to be married, ain't you?"
"Not that I know of," said Crosbie.
"Come, we know better than that. The women have been talking about it for the last three days. I had her name quite pat yesterday, but I've forgot it now. Hasn't got a tanner; has she?" And the Honourable John had now seated himself upon the table.
"You seem to know a great deal more about it than I do."
"It is that old woman from Guestwick who told us, then. The women will be at you at once, you'll find. If there's nothing in it, it's what I call a d—— shame. Why should they always pull a fellow to pieces in that way? They were going to marry me the other day!"
"Were they indeed, though?"
"To Harriet Twistleton. You know Harriet Twistleton? An uncommon fine girl, you know. But I wasn't going to be caught like that. I'm very fond of Harriet,—in my way, you know; but they don't catch an old bird like me with chaff."
"I condole with Miss Twistleton for what she has lost."
"I don't know about condoling. But upon my word that getting married is a very slow thing. Have you seen George's wife?"
Crosbie declared that he had not as yet had that pleasure.