Nicholas Forster, who was in a brown study about his wife, shook his head without lifting up his eyes, while Newton nodded assent.
“Plenty of accommodation in her,” continued Hilton.—Another negative shake from Nicholas, and assentent nod from Newton.
“If I thought you could manage her, Forster,” continued Hilton,—“tell me, what do you think yourself?”
“Oh, quite impossible!” replied Nicholas.
“Quite impossible, Mr Forster! well, now, I’ve a better opinion of Newton—I think he can.”
“Why, yes,” replied Nicholas, “certainly better than I can; but still she’s—”
“She’s a beauty, Mr Forster.”
“Mrs Forster a beauty,” cried Nicholas, looking at Hilton with astonishment.
Newton and Hilton burst into a laugh. “No, no,” said the latter, “I was talking about the sloop; but we had better proceed to business. Suppose we have pipes, Mr Forster. Mr Dragwell, what do you say?”
“Ha, ha, ha!” roared the curate, who had just taken the last joke.