“Married! You’re dreaming, Pick! Lord bless us,” said Mrs. Purcell, “that’s news, that is! Married? I don’t believe a word of it; at his age!”
“You said just now he wasn’t a Methusaleh, and no more he is; he’s a fine handsome man. He thinks a deal of himself, and that’s what makes other folks think a deal of him. The women’s as bad as the shops,” said old Pick; “they bring it on themselves. Here’s a man as is never out of mischief. I’ve seen him regularly coming home—well—none the better for his liquor; and gamblin’ day and night, playing billiards, betting, I don’t know what. We all know what that comes to; and a grown-up family besides——”
“Dear!” said Mrs. Purcell, in great concern. She knew a good deal about Miss Despard, and her feelings were very mingled in respect to her. In the first place, to know that her John was in love with a lady flattered and excited her, and had made her very curious about Lottie, every detail of whose looks, and appearance generally, she had studied. A Chevalier’s daughter might not be any very great thing; but it was a wonderful rise in the world for Mrs. Purcell’s son to be able to permit himself to fall in love with such a person. On the other hand, Miss Despard was poor, and might interfere with John’s chance of rising in the world. But anyhow, everything about her was deeply interesting to John’s mother. She paused to think what effect such a change would have upon her son before she asked any further questions. What would Miss Despard do? It was not likely she would care for a stepmother after being used to be mistress of the house—would she be ready to accept anyone that asked her, in order to get “a home of her own”? And would John insist upon marrying her? and would he be able to keep a wife? These questions all hurried through Mrs. Purcell’s mind on receipt of this startling news. “Dear! dear!” she said—and for a long time it was all she could say. The interests were so mixed that she did not know what to desire. Now or never, perhaps, was the time for John to secure the wife he wanted; but even in that case, would it be right for him to marry? Mrs. Purcell did not know what to think. “Did you hear who the lady was?” she asked, in a faint voice.
“Lady?—no lady at all—a girl that works for her living. I know her well enough by sight. One of the dressmaker’s girls in the River Lane. Ladies is silly enough, but not so silly as that; though I don’t know neither,” said old Pick, “what women-folks will do for a husband is wonderful. They’ll face the world for a husband. It don’t matter what sort he is, nor if he’s worth having——”
“They haven’t took that trouble for you, anyhow,” said Mrs. Purcell faintly, standing up amid her preoccupations for her own side.
“I’ve never given ’em the chance,” said Pick, with a chuckle. “Lord bless you! they’ve tried a plenty, but I’ve never given ’em the chance. Many’s the story I could tell you. They’ve done their best, poor things. Some has been that enterprising, I never could keep in the same room with ’em. But I’ve kep’ single, and I’ll keep single till my dying day. So will master, if I can judge. There’s some has the way of it, and some hasn’t. It would be a clever one,” said old Pickering, caressing his chin with an astute smile, “to get the better of me.”
The housekeeper threw at him a glance of mingled indignation and derision. She gave her head a toss. It was not possible for feminine flesh and blood to hear this unmoved. “You’re so tempting,” she said, with angry energy. “’Andsome and well to do, and worth a woman’s while.”
“Bless you, they don’t stick at that,” said the old man with a grin. “I could tell you of things as has happened—some to myself—some to other folks——”
“Dear!” cried Mrs. Purcell, “and me to think you were an old stick of an old bachelor, because nobody would have you, Pick! There’s some, as a body reads it in their face—as dry as an east wind, and cutting like an east wind does, that is never happy but when it’s blighting up something. I daresay it’s all a story about Captain Despard—just like the rest.”
“None of ’em likes it, when you speak free,” said old Pick, chuckling to himself. “Some pretends, just to please a man; but women does hang together, whoever says different, and they none of them likes to hear the truth. About Captain Despard, it’s a story if you please, but it’s true. The girl she makes no secret, she tells everybody as she’ll soon make a difference in the house. She’ll pack off the son to do for himself, and the daughter——”