DICK.
I'll be hanged then!
MARGERY—(leaning on his shoulder.)
Well, to be sure, we were happy yesterday. It's good to make holiday just now and then, but some how I was very glad to come home to our own little room again. O Dick!—did you mind that Mrs. Pinchtoe, that gave herself such grand airs?—she in the fine lavender silk gown—that turned up her nose at me so, and all because she's a master shoemaker's wife! and you are only—only—a cobbler!—(sighs) I wish you were a master shoemaker, Dick.
DICK.
That you might be a master shoemaker's wife, hay! and turn up your nose like Mrs. Pinchtoe?
MARGERY—(laughing.)
No, no; I have more manners.
DICK.
Would you love me better, Meg, if I were a master shoemaker?