On the evening in which it is our purpose to introduce the reader to their acquaintance, Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs occupied the precise position which they had at the same hour occupied evening after evening for the preceding forty years; that is, Mrs. Gibbs was by the side of the table with her "work," and Mr. Gibbs sate with his feet upon the fender, an open book by his side, on which his spectacles were deposited, while his body was assuming a backward inclination, which was occasionally checked by a sudden bobbing forward of the head, accompanied by a pulmonary effort of a most profound description.
"A little more, and I should have been asleep," said Mr. Gibbs; and, as the remark had escaped from the lips of that gentleman once every evening during nearly half a century, it did not seem to Mrs. Gibbs to call for any particular reply.
"I was speaking, my dear," said she, "of Mr. Paine's offer."
"And I," responded Mr. Gibbs, "was thinking upon the very same subject at the moment when you spoke; I was thinking that we must keep our eyes open to the advantages which are now presented."
Mr. Gibbs took a glass of wine, resumed his horizontal position, and seemed disposed to nod.
"Well, my dear,—now do rouse up,—if we are to accept Mr. Paine as a son-in-law, what will young Langton say to us?"
"I hope," said Mr. Gibbs, rubbing his eyes and yawning most uncomfortably,—"I hope Mr. Langton doesn't dream——"
"Why, my dear," interrupted the lady, "you must allow, we have given him a little encouragement."
"Not at all—not at all," was the reply; "nothing could be further from my intention: if indeed he had such an idea as you seem to intimate, I'm sure it has never been encouraged by me; he may have fancied otherwise, but anything of the sort on my part was mere manner, I assure you."
Mrs. Gibbs seemed satisfied, and the conversation on Mr. Paine's offer was resumed.