“But observe me now, Poll; if this report concerning the firm of M'Loughlin and Harman should by any possibility be traced to us, or rather to yourself, and that you should be pressed to disclose it, which, of course, you could not be; but if a weak moment should ever come—it is best then to speak the truth, and put the saddle as they rather profanely say, upon Valentine M'Clutchy, the right horse here.”
“Upon M'Clutchy! why bad as he is, he never opened his lips to me on this subject.”
“But he did to me, Poll, because it was from him I first heard the suggestion; so that in point of truth and justice, you are bound by your own conscience, or you ought at least—to lay it at his door—and that now you understand better”—he smiled a little as he uttered these words—“But why don't you get a better bonnet, that one is very shabby?”
“It's aisier said than done,” replied Poll, “the poor must always look poor, and will too.”
“There then, are ten shillings, Poll; bestow them on that, or on any other purpose you prefer.”
“Thank you, Mr. M'Slime, troth in the little job I did for you at our first acquaintance I found you—any way not worse than another. Well, but you can't desave me now—I see it in your eye—you have something else to say to me.”
“Oh, nothing to signify. Merely a serious young person would wish to remove for change of air to some quiet nook until health—which, indeed, is the chiefest of temporal blessings, might be recovered.”
“Man or woman?”
“A serious young woman, Poll.”
“I see, I see, Mr. M'Slime; I know nothing more about it.”