“Do you not remember,” she proceeded, with a melancholy smile, “a negotiation we had when you were here last?”
“A what, ma'am?”
“A—a—purchase you made from me,” she added.
“From you!” he exclaimed, with apparent astonishment; “well, then, I can't say that I have any recollection of it—I remember something—that is, some dalins or other I had wid the maid, but I don't remember purchasin' anything from you, ma'am.”
“It was a shawl,” she replied, “which you purchased, if you remember, and paid for, but which you forgot to bring with you.”
“Why, then,” he exclaimed, after rubbing his head with his fore-finger, “bad cess to me if I can remimber it; but the truth is, ma'am, I make so many purchases, and so many sales, that like the priest and them that confess to him, the last thing fairly drives the one that went afore it out o' my head.”
“You paid six guineas,” continued Mrs. Temple, “for the shawl, but left it behind you.”
“Well, bedad, ma'am,” said the pedlar, smiling, “it's aisy to see that you're no rogue, at any rate. In the present case, thin,” he added, “I suppose you wish to give me the shawl?”
“Oh, certainly,” she replied, “if you wish for it; but at the same time I would much rather keep the shawl and return you the money.”
“I'm in no hurry, ma'am for either shawl or money, if it isn't—hem—if it isn't just convanient.”