"But perhaps you haven't the honour of knowing that she's my wife,—as is to be. Now you know it." And then the coarse monster eyed him from head to foot. "Now you may go home to your mother," said he. "But don't tell her anything of it, because it's a secret."
He was fifteen stone at least, and Robinson was hardly ten. Oh, how vile is the mastery which matter still has over mind in many of the concerns of life! How can a man withstand the assault of a bull? What was Robinson to do? He walked downstairs into the street, leaving Maryanne behind with the butcher.
Some days after this he contrived a meeting with his love, and he then learned the history of that engagement. "She hated Brisket," she said. "He was odious to her. He was always greasy and smelt of meat;—but he had a respectable business."
"And is my Maryanne mercenary?" asked Robinson.
"Now, George," said she, "it's no use you scolding me, and I won't be scolded. Ma says that I must be civil to him, and I'm not going to quarrel with ma. At any rate not yet."
"But surely, Maryanne—"
"It's no good you surelying me, George, for I won't be surelyed. If you don't like me you can leave me."
"Maryanne, I adore you."
"That's all very well, and I hope you do; but why did you make a row with that man the other night?"
"But, dearest love, he made the row with me."