"Pshaw!" said a man's voice. "Pshaw! I know what I mean, and so do you. You be quiet wife, and think yourself well off, that you are as you are."
"Well off?"
"Yes, to be sure, well off."
"Well off, when I was forced to go to Mr. Rickup's party, in the same dress they saw me in last Easter. Oh! you brute!"
"What's the matter with the dress?"
"The matter? Why I'll tell you what the matter is. The matter is, and the long and short of everything, that you are a brute."
"Very conclusive indeed. The deuce take me if it ain't."
"I suppose by the deuce, you mean the devil, Mr. Simmons; and if he don't take you some day, he won't have his own. Ha! ha! you may laugh, but there's many a true word spoken in jest, Mr. Simmons."
"Oh, you are in jest, are you?"
"No sir, I am not, and I should like to know what woman could jest with only one black silk, and, that turned. Yes, Mr. Simmons, you often call upon the deuce to take this, and to take that. Mind he don't come some day to you when you least expect it sir, and say—"