"I was certain of your sympathy; I knew you 'd feel for me, my dear Mr. Dodd," said she, sobbing.
"Of course you were," said I to myself. "He was the kind of old fool you wanted. But, faith, he shall feel for me, too, or my name is not Jemima."
"I don't suppose you ever heard of so cruel a case?" said she, still sobbing.
"Never,—never," cried he, clasping his hands. "I did n't believe it was in the nature of man to treat youth, beauty, and loveliness with such inhumanity. One that could do it must be a Creole Indian."
"Ah, Mr. Dodd!" said she, looking up into his eyes.
"In Tartary, or the Tropics," said he, "such wretches may be found, but in our own country and our own age—"
"Ah, Mr. Dodd," said she, again, "it is only in an Irish heart such generous emotions have their home!"
The artful hussey, she knew the tenderest spot of his nature by an instinct! for if there was anything he could n't resist, it was the appeal to his being Irish. And to show you, Molly, the designing craft of her, she knew that weakness of K. I. in less than a month's acquaintance, that I did n't find out till I was eight or nine years married to him.
For a minute or two my feelings overcame me so much that I could n't look or listen to them; but when I did, she had her hand on his arm, and was saying in the softest voice,—
"I may, then, count upon your kindness,—I may rest assured of your friendship."