“There, it isn’t often that I ask you to do anything for me, Mr. Caudle, goodness knows! and when I do, I’m always refused - of course. Oh yes! anybody but your own lawful wife. Every other husband aboard the boat could behave like a husband - but I was left to shift for myself. To be sure, that’s nothing new; I always am. Every other man, worthy to be called a man, could smuggle a few things for his wife - but I might as well be alone in the world. Not one poor half-dozen of silk stockings could you put in your hat for me; and everybody else was rolled in lace, and I don’t know what. Eh? What, Mr. Caudle?
“What do I want with silk stockings?
“Well - it’s come to something now! There was a time, I believe, when I had a foot - yes, and an ankle, too; but when once a woman’s married, she has nothing of the sort; of course. No: I’m not a cherub, Mr. Caudle; don’t say that. I know very well what I am.
“I dare say now, you’d have been delighted to smuggle for Miss Prettyman? Silk stockings become her!
“You wish Miss Prettyman was in the moon?
“Not you, Mr. Caudle; that’s only your art - your hypocrisy. A nice person too she’d be for the moon: it would be none the brighter for her being in it, I know. And when you saw the Custom House officers look at me, as though they were piercing me through, what was your conduct? Shameful. You twittered about and fidgeted, and flushed up as if I really was a smuggler.
“So I was?
“What had that to do with it? It wasn’t the part of a husband, I think, to fidget in that way, and show it.
“You couldn’t help it?
“Humph! And you call yourself a person of strong mind, I believe? One of the lords of the creation! Ha! ha! couldn’t help it!