‘No,’ said Clemency. ‘Too hard. I only reads a thimble.’
‘Read a thimble!’ echoed Snitchey. ‘What are you talking about, young woman?’
Clemency nodded. ‘And a nutmeg-grater.’
‘Why, this is a lunatic! a subject for the Lord High Chancellor!’ said Snitchey, staring at her.
—‘If possessed of any property,’ stipulated Craggs.
Grace, however, interposing, explained that each of the articles in question bore an engraved motto, and so formed the pocket library of Clemency Newcome, who was not much given to the study of books.
‘Oh, that’s it, is it, Miss Grace!’ said Snitchey.
‘Yes, yes. Ha, ha, ha! I thought our friend was an idiot. She looks uncommonly like it,’ he muttered, with a supercilious glance. ‘And what does the thimble say, Mrs. Newcome?’
‘I an’t married, Mister,’ observed Clemency.
‘Well, Newcome. Will that do?’ said the lawyer. ‘What does the thimble say, Newcome?’