"Such as taking to myself the lady up-stairs!" exclaimed John. "No, but
I must part with her; if one of you goes, the other must."
This was absolutely the first time the matter had even been hinted at between them, and yet Miss Christie's whole conduct was arranged with reference to it, and John always fully counted on her protective presence.
"Ay, but if I might give myself the liberty of a very old friend," she answered, straightway taking the ell because he had given her an inch, "there is something I would like to say to ye."
"What would you like to say?"
"Well, I would like to say that if a man is so more than commonly a fine man, that it's just a pleasure to set one's eyes on him, and if he's well endowed with this world's gear, it's a strange thing if there is no excellent, desirable, and altogether sweet young woman ready, and even sighing, for him."
"Humph!" said John.
"I don't say there is," proceeded Miss Christie; "far be it from me."
"I hate red hair," answered the attractive widower.
"It's just like a golden oriole. It isn't red at all," replied Miss
Christie dogmatically.
"I call it red," said John Mortimer.