Mr. H. “I have so little reason to complain of my reception that I will make my proposal to her this evening if you think proper.”
Mrs. Bazalgette started, and glanced admiration on a man of eight thousand a year, who came to the point of points without being either cajoled or spurred thither; but she shook her head. “Prudence, my dear Mr. Hardie, prudence. Not just yet. You are making advances every day; and Lucy is an odd girl; with all her apparent tenderness, she is unimpressionable.”
“That is only virgin modesty,” said Hardie, dogmatically.
“Fiddlestick,” replied Mrs. B., good-humoredly. “The greatest flirts I ever met with were virgins, as you call them. I tell you she is not disposed toward marriage as all other girls are until they have tasted its bitters.”
Mr. H. “If I know anything of character, she will make a very loving wife.”
Mrs. B. (sharply). “That means a nice little negro. Well, I think she might, when once caught; but she is not caught, and she is slippery, and, if you are in too great a hurry, she may fly off; but, above all, we have a dangerous rival in the house just now.”
Mr. H. “What, that Mr. Talboys? I don't fear him. He is next door to a fool.”
Mrs. B. “What of that? Fools are dangerous rivals for a lady's favor. We don't object to fools. It depends on the employment. There is one office we are apt to select them for.”
Mr. H. “A husband, eh?” The lady nodded.
Mrs. B. “I meant to marry a fool in Bazalgette, but I found my mistake. The wretch had only feigned absurdity. He came out in his true colors directly.”