"George, have you taken it into your head, not to care a straw for your sister any more?" This was exactly what I expected; but I looked at her with innocent astonishment. I put down my bacon and my jug of beer, but drew back the cloth, to leave room for her arms, and then gazed at her with some dignity.
"Oh, you need not be afraid. I am not going to cry over it," she exclaimed, with the usual ingratitude of girls; "in fact I feel much more inclined to laugh. You have been trying to sell me, to sell your own sister! Can you not imagine, George, that I am not for sale?"
"Look here!" I said, for this was coming it too strong; "you have got into some tantrums, some feminine delusions. I have not had a bit to eat, I don't know when; and I must recruit the inner man, while you come to your senses."
"Poor thing! It cannot be so very deep in love, or it would be satisfied to live on air. But don't they feed you where you go, dear George? Well, that does seem inhospitable. And they must be rich people, or you would not go so often."
This was almost more than I could stand. However, I kept up my dignity, remembering that the more impudent a girl is, the more she "climbs down" afterwards. "Your very good health, my dear child!" I said, and then observed her through the glass which formed the bottom of the tankard. Now I say that she was a very sweet young woman, and a worthy wife for the best man that ever lived, not to lose all self-command at this; for the loveliest creature ever born cannot flatter herself that she looks well thus.
"You want to make me cry, but you won't do it. And once for all, just understand this little point. I don't care a rap—as you elegantly express it—what airs you put on to exasperate me. Because I am certain that you understand me, George. All the very small things you say—and you have a low gift of walking under your own feet—all of them—what I mean is, none of them have the smallest effect upon my poor mind. In the first place, I am not clever, any more than you are. And if I were, I should only use it to make you more and more fond of me, instead of endeavouring to make you feel small. But, oh, George, I never thought that you would scheme to sell me!"
"All this is Abracadabra to me," I replied quickly, in fear of a torrent. For when a girl tells you that she won't cry, you may almost always see her fingers getting ready for her handkerchief.
"How innocent you look! But just one little question. Did you not send Mr. Stoneman Jackson to propose to me, this very evening?"
"Nothing of the sort. And as if you did not know his name! I have not even seen him, since that day when you were cutting such a shine in the sun, as the frugal, virtuous, and lovely milkmaid. That is what has fetched him; not your stupid brother." I owed her a cut or two, as everybody will perceive.