“Well, I might do worse,” said she.
About six weeks after this Drake came about her, and in tender tones of consolation suggested that it is much better for a pretty girl to marry one who plows the land than one who plows the sea.
“That is true,” said Mary, with a sigh; “I have found it to my sorrow.”
After this Drake played a bit with her, and then relented, and one evening offered her marriage, expecting her to jump eagerly at his offer.
“You be too late, young man,” said she, coolly; “I'm bespoke.”
“Doan't ye say that! How can ye be bespoke? Why, t'other hain't been dead four months yet.”
“What o' that? This one spoke for me within a week. Why, our banns are to be cried to-morrow; come to church and hear 'em; that will learn ye not to shilly-shally so next time.”
“Next time!” cried Drake, half blubbering; then, with a sudden roar, “what, be you coming to market again, arter this?”
“Like enough: he is a deal older than I be. 'Tis Mr. Meyrick, if ye must know.”
Now Mr. Meyrick was well-to-do, and so Drake was taken aback.