"Pickles!" echoed Jones, looking doubtful.
"And s'pose," continued Mary, "you add macaroni, and sauces, and set up as a superior grocer."
Jones scratched his head.
"Law, child!" he said, "this aint a stylish neighbourhood—and who'll buy my macaroni and my sauces?"
"Why no one, of course," superciliously replied Mary. "It's not to sell them, you want them; it's for the look of the thing—to be a superior grocer, you know."
The words "superior grocer," gently tickled secret ambition. Mr. Richard
Jones seriously promised his daughter to think about it.
Mary had other thoughts, which she did not communicate to her father; and of these thoughts, the chief was to find out what had become of Mr. Saunders, and return to the old plan of enticing him into partnership. She was so full of this project, that, partly to get assistance, partly to take a little consequence on herself, she imparted it, under the strictest secrecy, to Rachel Gray; and at the close, she pretty clearly hinted, that if Mr. Joseph Saunders behaved well, he might, in time, aspire to the honour of her hand.
Rachel heard her silently, and looked very uncomfortable.
"My dear," she said, hesitatingly, "you must not think of anything of the kind; indeed you must not."
"And why shouldn't I?" tartly asked Mary, with a saucy toss of the head.