“Ah, indeed—you a daughter, ma'am? But she is not grown-up, of course—a mere child?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, said the old creature, tickled up to the eyes, and looking at me with the sweetest smiles; though it may surprise you very much, she is not only no child, but a woman grown; and, what's more, I think she will be made a wife this very night.”
“Egad, then I suspect she's not the only one that's about to be made a wife of. I suspect some one of these young ladies, your neighbors, will be very soon in the same condition.”
“Indeed, sir—pray, who?—how do you know? and the old tabby edged herself along the sofa until she almost got jam up beside me.”
“Well, said I, I don't KNOW exactly, but I'm deucedly suspicious of it, and, more than that, there's some underhand work going on.”
This made her more curious than ever; and her hands and feet, and indeed her whole body, got such a fidgeting, that I fancied she began to think of getting St. Vitus for a bedfellow. Her eagerness made her ask me two or three times what made me think so; and, seeing her anxiety, I purposely delayed in order to worry her. I wished to see how far I could run her up. When I did begin to explain, I went to work in a round-about way enough—something thus, old Kentuck—as I began: “Well, ma'am, this tobacco-chewing, as I said before, carried me, as you witnessed, constantly to the window. I don't know that I chew more than many others, but I know I chew too much for my good, and for decency, too, ma'am.”
“Yes, sir, yes; but the young lady, and—”
“Ah, yes, ma'am. Well, then, going to the window once, twice, or thrice, I could not help but see a young man standing beneath it, evidently in waiting—very earnest, very watchful—seemingly very much interested and anxious, as if waiting for somebody.”
“Is it possible?” whispered the tabby, full of expectation.
“Yes, very possible, ma'am—very true.” There he stood; I could even hoar his deep-drawn sighs—deep, long, as if from the very bottom of his heart.'