Lee was made to sit down and take a glass of grog. So, very shortly, the conversation flowed on into its old channel, and, after spending a long and pleasant evening, we all went to bed.
James and I slept in the same room; and, when we were going to bed, I said,—
"James, if that fellow were to die, there would be a chance for you yet."
"With regard to what?" he asked.
"You know well enough, you old humbug," I said; "with regard to Mary Hawker,—NEE Thornton!"
"I doubt it, my lad," he said. "I very much doubt it indeed; and, perhaps, you have heard that there must be two parties to a bargain, so that even if she were willing to take me, I very much doubt if I would ask her."
"No one could blame you for that," I said, "after what has happened. There are but few men who would like to marry the widow of a coiner."
"You mistake me, Jeff. You mistake me altogether," he answered, walking up and down the room, with one boot off. "That would make but little difference to me. I've no relations to sing out about a mesalliance, you know. No, my dear old fellow, not that; but—Jeff, Jeff! You are the dearest friend I have in the world."
"Jim, my boy," I answered, "I love you like a brother. What is it?"
"I have no secrets from you, Jeff," he said; "so I don't mind telling you." Another hesitation! I grew rather anxious. "What the deuce is coming?" I thought. "What can she have been up to? Go on, old fellow," I added aloud; "let's hear all about it."