"Why not—Cynthia, woman? You have been talking to Mr. Liddesdale?"
"Not I," said his wife, smiling. "You should not talk in your sleep, that's all, Butcher Donnan, if you want to keep your little secrets."
"Ah, wife, wife, it's you that are the wonderful woman," cried the Butcher-Pastry-Cook; "but if that be so, faith, it's just as well I don't sleep with that Thief-o'-the-Wurrld Kemp, our sugar merchant. But what say you, wife?"
"I say what you say, Butcher Donnan!"
"Do you think she would accept? Would she come to us and be our daughter?"
"By this and that," said his wife, "mind, I take it for granted that you have done what is right by Nipper, and that he and Meg may come home when they like?"
"Not before Saturday!" said the Butcher; "furniture and all won't be in. And if I saw Nipper for the first time on any other day than the blessed Sabbath, I might be tempted even then to break his silly head!"
This from Butcher Donnan was equal to a stage benediction from another. But his wife looked for more light, and in answer to the question in her eyes he told her all.
"Oh, Nipper is all right. He gets more than he deserves, the rascal. I will let him off what he still owes me on the business. The shop and dwelling-house shall be put in his name, and that's a deal more than ever I dreamed of having at his age. As for the dollars—well, we will see about those, when you and I have done with them!"
"What do you think about asking Elizabeth?" said his wife.