"
"The sooner the better, Dick; old recollections are like old clothes,
and should be sent off by wholesale; they only take up room in one's
wardrobe, and it would be old-fashioned to wear them. But you look grave
upon it. Who the devil is it that has made such a hole in your heart?"
"Pshaw!" answered Middlemas, "I'm sure you must remember--Menie--my
master's daughter."
"What, Miss Green, the old pottercarrier's daughter?--a likely girl
enough, I think."
"My master is a surgeon," said Richard, "not an apothecary, and his name
is Gray."
"Ay, ay, Green or Gray--what does it signify? He sells his own drugs, I
think, which we in the south call being a pottercarrier. The girl is a
likely girl enough for a Scottish ball-room. But is she up to any thing?
Has she any _nouz?_"
"Why, she is a sensible girl, save in loving me," answered Richard; "and
that, as Benedict says, is no proof of her wisdom, and no great argument
of her folly."
"But has she spirit--spunk--dash--a spice of the devil about her?"
"Not a penny-weight--the kindest, simplest, and most manageable of human
beings," answered the lover.
"She won't do then," said the monitor, in a decisive tone. "I am sorry
for it, Dick: but she will never do. There are some women in the world
that can bear their share in the bustling life we live in India--ay, and
I have known some of them drag forward husbands that would otherwise
have stuck fast in the mud till the day of judgment.
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