‘O yes,’ said the mate, pulling out a couple of the most bewitching shawls that eyes ever saw. ‘One of these I am going to give to that young lady I am shortly to be married to, you know, Mrs. Garland. Has father told you about it? Matilda Johnson, of Southampton, that’s her name.’
‘Yes, we know all about it,’ said the widow.
‘Well, I shall give one of these shawls to her—because, of course, I ought to.’
‘Of course,’ said she.
‘But the other one I’ve got no use for at all; and,’ he continued, looking round, ‘will you have it, Miss Anne? You refused the parrot, and you ought not to refuse this.’
‘Thank you,’ said Anne calmly, but much distressed; ‘but really I don’t want it, and couldn’t take it.’
‘But do have it!’ said Bob in hurt tones, Mrs. Garland being all the while on tenter-hooks lest Anne should persist in her absurd refusal.
‘Why, there’s another reason why you ought to!’ said he, his face lighting up with recollections. ‘It never came into my head till this moment that I used to be your beau in a humble sort of way. Faith, so I did, and we used to meet at places sometimes, didn’t we—that is, when you were not too proud; and once I gave you, or somebody else, a bit of my hair in fun.’
‘It was somebody else,’ said Anne quickly.
‘Ah, perhaps it was,’ said Bob innocently. ‘But it was you I used to meet, or try to, I am sure. Well, I’ve never thought of that boyish time for years till this minute! I am sure you ought to accept some one gift, dear, out of compliment to those old times!’