“Oh, ay; and he wept plentifully when he saw how you wept—ay, and offered to be your sweetheart in the stead of poor Dick, the knave! For I saw Dick with these eyes, within the hour.”
“Oh, mother—and you told him—no, you durs n't tell him—”
“He had just this morning come to London from the Indies, and it was luck—ill-luck, maybe—that made him run against me. He plied me with question after question—all about Nell—his Nell, he called you, if you please.”
“His Nell—ah, mother! his Nell! Well, you told him—”
“I told him that you would never more need his aid to buy foot-gear. Lord! Nell, do you mind how he bought you the worsted stockings when you were nigh mad with the chilblains?”
“And you told him... For God's sake, say what you told him!”
“I did n't mention the king's name—no, I'm loyal to his Majesty, God save him! I only told him that you had given up selling oranges in the pit of Drury Lane, and had taken to the less reputable part of the house, to wit, the stage.”
“Poor Dick! he did n't like to hear that. Oh, if he had stayed at home and had carried his link as before, all would have been well!”
“What is the wench talking about? Well—all would have been well? And is not all well, you jade? 'T were rank treason to say else. Is n't this room with its gilded looking-glasses and painted vases pretty well for one who had been an orange girl? The king is a gentleman, and a merry gentleman, too. Well, indeed!”
“But Dick!—what more did you say to him, mother?”