“I can't dive into such depths. I'm ignorant.”
“Tell those that know you no better. But you can't blind me. I know that you know—and more than that, I can guess what's carrying you to Alabama. It's not law business, I know that.”
I was vexed enough, as may be supposed, at this malicious pertinacity, but I kept down my struggling gorge with a resolution which I had been compelled often enough to exercise before; and quietly ended the interview by taking my hat and departure, as I said:—
“You are certainly a very sagacious lady, Mrs. Delaney; but I must leave you, and wait your own time to make these mysterious revelations. My respects to Mr. Delaney. Good morning.”
“Oh, good morning; but let me tell you, Mr. Clifford, if you don't see, it's not because you can't. Other people can see without trying.”
The Jezabel!
My preparations were soon completed. I worked with the spirit of enthusiasm—I had so many motives to be active; and, subordinate among these, but still important, I should get out of the reach of this very woman. I could not beat her myself but I wished her husband might do it, and not to anticipate my own story, he did so in less than three months after. He was the man too, to perform such a labor with unction and emphasis. A vigorous man with muscles like bolt-ropes, and limbs that would have been respectable in the days of Goliah. I met him on leaving the steps of Mrs. Delaney's lodgings, and—thinking of the marital office I wished him to perform—I was rejoiced to discover that he was generously drunk—in the proper spirit for such deeds in the flesh.
He seized my hand with quite a burst of enthusiasm, swore I was a likely fellow, and somehow he had a liking for me.
“Though, to be sure, my dear fellow, it's not Mrs. Delaney that loves any bone in your skin. She's a lady that, like most of the dear creatures, has a way of her own for thinking. She does her own thinking, and what can a woman know about such a business. It's to please her that I sit by and say nothing; and a wife must be permitted some indulgence while the moon lasts, which the poets tell us, is made out of honey: but it's never a long moon in these days, and a small cloud soon puts an end to it. Wait till that time, Mr. Clifford, and I'll put her into a way of thinking, that'll please you and myself much better.”
I thanked him for his good opinion, and civilly wished him—as it was a matter which seemed to promise him so much satisfaction—that the duration of the honeymoon should be as short as possible. He thanked me affectionately—grasped my hand with the squeeze of a blacksmith, and entreated that I should go back and take a drink of punch with him. As an earnest of what he could give me, he pulled a handful of lemons from his pocket which he had bought from a shop by the way. I need not say I expressed my gratitude, though I declined his invitation. I then told him I was about to remove to Alabama, and he immediately proposed to go along with me. I reminded him that he was just married, and it would be expected of him that he would see the honeymoon out.