"Don't you want to marry him?"
"I don't know. I guess I do."
"My dear," said Mrs. Snow, soberly, "This is a very solemn thing."
"I don't see it in that light," said Miss Butterworth, indulging in a new fit of laughter. "I wish I could, but it's the funniest thing. I wake up laughing over it, and I go to sleep laughing over it, and I say to myself, 'what are you laughing at, you ridiculous creature?'"
"Well, I believe you are a ridiculous creature," said Mrs. Snow.
"I know I am, and if anybody had told me a year ago that I should ever marry Jim Fenton, I—"
"Jim Fenton!" exclaimed the whole Snow family.
"Well, what is there so strange about my marrying Jim Fenton?" and the little tailoress straightened in her chair, her eyes flashing, and the color mounting to her face.
"Oh, nothing; but you know—it's such a surprise—he's so—he's so—well he's a—not cultivated—never has seen much society, you know; and lives almost out of the world, as it were."
"Oh, no! He isn't cultivated! He ought to have been brought up in Sevenoaks and polished! He ought to have been subjected to the civilizing and refining influences of Bob Belcher!"