"Silence, and listen to me! Now what objection could you possibly make to Doctor Wiseman as a husband?"
"As a husband? Ha, ha, ha! Why, Guardy, you don't mean to say that that yellow-skinned, spindle-shanked, dwarfed old ogre, with one leg in the grave, and the other over the fence, is thinking of marrying—do you?"
"Hold your tongue, or you'll lose it, you little wretch! Doctor Wiseman is no old ogre, but a dark-complexioned——"
"Saffron, saffron, Guardy! Tell the truth, now, and shame your master. Isn't it saffron?"
"I'll brain you if you don't stop! A man can't get in a word edgeways with you. Dr. Wiseman, minx, has done you the honor to propose for your hand. I have consented, and——"
But the squire broke off suddenly, in a towering rage—for Gipsy, after an incredulous stare, burst into a shout of laughter that made the house ring. Pressing her hands to her sides, she laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks; and, at last, unable to stop, she rolled off her seat on to the floor, and tumbled over and over in a perfect convulsion.
"Oh, you little aggravation! Will you stop?" cried the squire, seizing her by the shoulder, and shaking her until she was breathless.
"Oh, Guardy, that's too good! Marry me? Oh, I declare, I'll split my sides!" exclaimed Gipsy, going into another fit of laughter, as she essayed in vain to rise.
"Gipsy Gower! Cease your folly for a moment, and rise up and listen to me," said the squire, so sternly that Gipsy wiped the tears from her eyes, and pressing her hands to her sides, resumed her seat.
"Gipsy, I do not wish you to consider me a boaster, but you know I have done a great deal for you, brought you up, educated you, and intended leaving you a fortune at my death——"