“Miss Pet, excuse me, but I—I’d rather not tell, if it’s all the same,” replied Mr. Toosypegs, blushing deeply.
“Oh, fool! tell me, as a friend, you know. Won’t ever mention it again, so help me! Do I know her?”
“Ye—yes, Miss Pet, slightly.”
“Hem! It isn’t Annie Grove?”
“No, Miss Pet—why, she’s forty years old, if she’s a day,” said Mr. Toosypegs, indignantly.
“Yes, I know—twenty-five, she says; but she’s been that as far back as the oldest inhabitant can remember. Well, then, Jessie Masters?”
“Miss Pet, allow me to say I ain’t in the habit of falling in love with women with wooden legs,” said the young gentleman, with dignity.
“Well, I didn’t know; it’s cheaper, in shoe-leather, especially. Hem-m-m! Perhaps it’s Mrs. Jenkins?”
“Mrs. Jenkins! a widow! No, Miss Pet, it ain’t. I should think you might know I don’t like second-hand women,” said Mr. Toosypegs, as near being indignant as he ever was in his life.
“Well, who the mischief can it be then! It must be Huldah Rice.”