"Why, pray, have you not studied law in Vienna? Docs not the decree of St. Stephen lay it down that the prosecutor must be a married man? If you are single, you are not qualified to make the depositions."
"All right, I'll marry."
His hearer fairly shook with laughter.
"My boy, I've heard many motives suggested for matrimony, but never one like yours. You are going to marry to help the people to their rights! Remember that—
"'He who takes himself a wife,
Does but heap up care and strife.'"
"But, uncle, what can you, who were never married, have to urge against matrimony?"
"Oh, I've nothing against your marrying. Leave that also to me. I have found you a house; now I'll find you a wife."
"It is very good of you, I'm sure."
"I'm not joking. I know of a right suitable maiden for you. You remember when you were still a lawyer's clerk, pretty little Mariska, the notary's daughter. Well, she has become a fine girl. Since her mother's death she manages the household entirely, and nowhere is there one so well ordered as Tárhalmy's. She spends no money beyond what she gives to the poor, and knows how to save as well. She's none of your frilled and furbelowed fine ladies, and does not frizz her hair in the latest fashion, but just dresses like a modest Magyar maid; and when you talk to her, you hardly know what colour her eyes are, so modestly are they cast down. Nor does she waste time in chatter, but gives you a plain answer to a plain question, with the prettiest blush imaginable. That's the wife for you, my boy, and a right comely one, I promise you."
"All right, uncle. When I've bought the house, and had time to look round a little, I'll go and see her."