Theophilus felt this; and ventured a trip, and a house, for he bought one, urged thereto by a lady acquaintance, by name Mrs. Palaver,—a lady who drove not only her husband, but a pair of ponies, and astonished the eyes both of "quality" and "natives" by the way she did the genteel,—that is, as far as her ponies went: for herself, she had a soul above mean approbation. Among the "select" at the libraries, Mrs. P. was the ruling star; and, to judge not only from the redness of her face, but as her husband could testify, Mars in petticoats. She shilling-loo'd and "one-in-three'd," even to the hinderance of "The Concert;" but no one bore interruptions of this nature with so much philosophical sweetness as Old Bones, the proprietor; and as the "one-in-threes" bore to him a profit of three to one, the dulcet tones of the signora of the rooms were often eclipsed by Mrs. P.'s shake, or "go," as it is called. Our readers may be curious as to the name of the "signora:" it was Mrs. Nobs by day, Signora Nobini by night. And such a voice! The little boys in Hawley-square heard as well as the company inside,—in fact rather better, for they complained of its being a leetle too forte.
But although Mrs. Palaver put down shillings, she picked up friends,—dear souls of the newest importation,—and among the rest Mrs. Jennings. Mrs. Jennings was a widow who "wanted somebody to care for her." She had a small independence, and, if we may venture to judge from subsequent events, a very small independence; in fact, it might be doubted if it were an independence at all. She was tall, scraggy, and thin—we use a homely simile—as a pancake; the effect of grief, doubtless. She had lost a husband, she said, who doted on her; and, having lost so great a treasure, can we wonder at her unwearied exertions to obtain a fresh supply of affection? Theophilus was a man of money. Mrs. Jennings could not boast of the same golden fruit; and, as she wanted "somebody to care for her," she fixed her eye—a grey one—upon Theophilus Bullfinch.
"They met," not in a "crowd," but at a tea and card party; at the mutual friend's, Mrs. Palaver, where real eighteenpenny Cape, and diamond-cut sandwiches of the size and thinness of a three-cornered note, indicated the gentility of the lady of the house. Theophilus and the widow were partners,—a beginning not to be despised. Mrs. Jennings looked confusion over her hand, and vowed her heart must fall to his king of clubs. Theophilus blushed; she sighed, and intent upon a new game, lost the rubber! Theophilus paid for himself; the widow had a mind above trifles. Theophilus was tempted,—what man is not at times?—and paid for Mrs. Jennings. The first stone was laid, and the widow saw the church already built, the door open, and the parson's hand in the same inviting position. The next morning, Mrs. Jennings, our bachelor, and the mutual friend were to perambulate the fields, or rather corn-fields, and numerous of the "quality" were drifting along the chalky roads on an equestrian tour; asses were at a premium, and young ladies legs going up. Our party wended their way, and Mrs. J. talked of the days when she and Mr. J. made love in a corn field. If she had only somebody to care for her!—and Mrs. Jennings squeezed something very like a tear into the corners of her eyes. We know not what effect they might have had on the dear departed, but to our bachelor they appeared the essence of affection,—pretty little drops, distilled from that great alembic, the heart. Theophilus, we have before hinted, was unused to the sweet witchery of womankind, and in the simplicity of his soul thought tears must be a natural production! Let not the wise in the lore of matrimony laugh at his ignorance,—Theophilus was a bachelor!
He was touched by this unexampled proof of, to him, affection; and, drawing himself into closer proximity with Mrs. Jennings than he had before ventured, began—
"My dear ma'am, don't distress yourself. Men are like ears of corn."
"I know it," cried Mrs. Jennings, twisting one round her finger as she spoke.
"Like grass, ma'am; and Time's scythe mows down husbands and fathers!"
"Oh! oh!" sobbed the widow.
"Is there anything I can do to comfort you, ma'am?" asked Theophilus inquiringly.
Mrs. Jennings looked assent, and kept twisting the ear of corn.