Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the contract was solemnly ratified in another tea-cupful of the peppermint mixture, which was rendered the more necessary by the flutter and agitation of the lady’s spirits. While it was being disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old woman’s decease.
“Very good,” said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint “I’ll call at Sowerberry’s as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?”
“It wasn’t anything particular, dear,” said the lady, evasively.
“It must have been something, love,” urged Mr. Bumble. “Wont you tell your own B.?”
“Not now,” rejoined the lady; “one of these days,—after we’re married, dear.”
“After we’re married!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble. “It wasn’t any impudence from any of them male paupers as——”
“No, no, love!” interposed the lady, hastily.
“If I thought it was,” continued Mr. Bumble,—“if I thought any one of ’em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely countenance——”
“They wouldn’t have dared to do it, love,” responded the lady.