"Is she?" I asked; "pray, how do you happen to know?"
"O, because she is constantly blushing and crying," Fred answered, boldly.
"Is that the only method by which you judge?" I asked, quite lost in admiration at his perceptible powers.
"Of course it is—innocence always blushes."
Let ladies take note that in the estimate of some men a blush is regarded with more veneration than a hundred protestations of purity. Where my friend obtained his knowledge of women I am unable to say, for he was never married, although many times in love.
"What is she doing here at the mines?" I inquired.
"That I have not found out as yet, but I will interrogate her on the subject," replied Fred, with much confidence.
He began his examination in such a delicate manner that the girl grew more and more communicative, and revealed her history, which was not a common one.
Her name was Mary Ann Purcel, and she was the daughter of a respectable cordwainer of London. Her father, as usual with men of his kind of business, had taken an apprentice to learn his profession, but it seems that the young fellow had studied the beauty of the girl more than his duties, which gave greater satisfaction to the lady than the parent, and a quarrel ensued; and Robert Herrets' (the name of the apprentice) indentures were broken or given up, and the young fellow was told that he had better seek his fortune in some other quarter of the globe, or at least attempt some other business besides that of being a cordwainer.
The lover did not relish the summary manner that his claims were disposed of, and so intimated; but he was ridiculed for seeking to ally himself with a man who could afford to give his daughter five hundred pounds on her wedding day, and yet keep up his business.