“Why, as for good looks, they be well enough matched, that’s sure; but I don’t mean that, I mean, he is quite as knowing as she is, and will shift his helm as she shifts hers. ’Twill be a long running fight, and when one strikes, t’other won’t have much to boast of. Perhaps they may sheer off after all—perhaps they may sail as consorts; God only knows; but this I knows, that Tom’s sweetheart may be as tricky as she pleases, but Tom’s wife won’t be—’cause why? He’ll keep her in order. Well, good-night; I have a long walk.”
When I returned home I found Mary alone. “Has Tom been here?” inquired I.
“What makes you ask that question?” replied Mary.
“To have it answered—if you have no objection.”
“Oh, no! Well, then, Mr Jacob, Tom has been here, and very amusing he has been.”
“So he always is,” replied I.
“And where may you have been?” I told her. “So you saw old Dominie. Now, tell me, what did he say about me?”
“That I shall not tell,” replied I; “but I will tell you this, that he will not think about you any more; and you must not expect ever to see him again.”
“But recollect that he promised.”
“He kept his promise, Mary.”