“It depends, your reverence, on the bridegroom. About Tower steps, for instance, and down Wapping way, there are brides in plenty to be picked up for the asking.”
“Not brides for me, Roger. Think again. I want a bride who wants a husband, and not a sailor’s money; who will stick to her husband and make him as happy in his wedded life as you and the rest of mankind are or have been.”
Roger grinned. He was himself a widower, and could be tickled with the joke.
“I think I know the very woman,” he said. “A young widow——”
“Good,” said the Doctor.
“She has been extravagant, and is in debt——”
“Very good,” said the Doctor.
“A prisoner in the Fleet; but I can fetch her out in a twinkling, for half-a-crown.”
“Ay—ay,” said the Doctor. “Go on, honest Roger. A widow, extravagant, and in debt. That promises well.”
“Her husband was an honest draper in Gracechurch Street, who lately died of smallpox, leaving her a good business and a thousand pounds in money. She hath already squandered the thousand, wasted the business, and brought herself to ruin. She is comely, and is but thirty years of age; to get out of the Fleet, I think she would marry the——”