“Why that of marrying Jessie H—. Do not think me meddlesome, or impertinent. I take it for granted that you and I are sufficiently acquainted for me to take the liberty I am doing. The girl likes you; I know it, and it is a deuced shame to see a fine girl like her thrown away on such a puppy as Vane. Why don’t you save her? She is everything a man could wish for—although she is a little different from most of the young ladies of London. In my opinion, she’s all the better for that.”
In thus addressing me, Cannon acted in a more ungentlemanly manner than I had ever known him to do, for he was not a man to intrude advice upon his friends—especially on matters of so serious a nature, as the one he had introduced.
Believing him to have some friendship for myself, more for the H— family, and a great antipathy to Vane, I listened to him without feeling offended.
“I am not insensible to the attractions of Miss H—,” said I, “but the happiness, you speak of, can never be mine.”
“Oh! I understand you,” rejoined he. “You have been disappointed in love by some one else? So was I, once on a time—madly in love with a girl who married another, whom I suppose she liked better than me. At first I thought of committing suicide; but was prevented—I suppose, by fear. I was afflicted with very unpleasant thoughts, springing from this disappointment. They stuck to me for nearly three years. I got over them last, and I’ll tell you how. I accidentally met the object of my affections. She was the mother of two rosy, apple-cheeked children; and presented a personal appearance that immediately disenchanted me. She was nearly as broad as she was long. I wondered how the deuce I could ever have been such a fool as to love the woman—more especially to have made myself so miserable about her. If you have been disappointed in the same manner, take my advice, and seek the remedy that restored me.”
Absurd as Cannon’s proposition might appear, I could not help thinking that there was some philosophy in it; and, without telling him of my intention, I determined on giving it further consideration.
To change the conversation, I rang the bell. I knew that Cannon was fond of a glass of Scotch whiskey; and, when Mrs Nagger made her appearance, I requested her to bring a bottle of Glenlivet into the room—along with some hot water and sugar. The “materials” were produced; and we proceeded to mixing the “toddy.”
“This is the right brand,” said Cannon, taking up the bottle, and scrutinising its label, “the very sort to my taste.”
I could see the lips of Mrs Nagger slightly moving; and I knew that she was muttering the words, “more’s the pity!” I have no doubt that she suffered a little at being deprived of the opportunity of giving her one idea a more audible manifestation.
Cannon did not suffer from any disappointment as to the quality of the liquor. At all events, he appeared to find it to his liking: for he became so exhilarated over it, that he did not leave until sunset; and not then, till he had prevailed upon me to accompany him—with the understanding, that we should spend the evening together.