“Mary,” said the exasperated Thomas, “I asked you to show that bug out. Will you kindly go away, sir, and drown yourself? I insist upon thinking of my latter end, and I simply cannot do it when you are here.”
“I will go away, if you wish it, Mr. Thomas, but you will let me come back this evening?”
“You won’t be able to come back, if you drown yourself.”
“But I’m not going to drown myself.”
“Well, you said you were, and you ought to, any way.”
“Oh, Mr. Thomas, I never, never——”
“Don’t contradict. It’s excessively rude, especially in a young bug like yourself. You promised to drown yourself, if I’d bequeath Mary to you in my will. You can take her now, if you like, and you may both go away and drown yourselves. I shall be dead before this evening; and if I am quite dead, you may come back. Now go.”
The Dear Friend turned slowly and sadly away.
“Are you going to take Mary?” Thomas called after him. “You can if you like. She’s nearly as fat-headed as yourself, and you’d get on splendidly together. Pray take her. I’m nearly dead, and I don’t want her.”
The Dear Friend made no reply. The wretched Mary was crying again. Thomas had worked himself up to the climax of fury, and was now lapsing from it into a series of chuckles. “Moist one,” he said, turning to Mary, “you don’t love me.”