He was well enough by this time to be up, and was looking through one
window while the tutor lounged in the seat of another. On a sudden
'Lord!' said he, with a laugh that broke off short in the middle. 'What
was the queer catch that fellow sang last night? About a bailiff's
daughter. Well, why not a porter's daughter?'
'Because you are neither young enough, nor old enough, nor mad enough!'
said Mr. Thomasson cynically, supposing the other meant nothing.
'It is she that would be mad,' the young gentleman answered, with a grim
chuckle. 'I should take it out of her sooner or later. And, after all,
she is as good as Lady Macclesfield or Lady Falmouth! As good? She is
better, the saucy baggage! By the Lord, I have a good mind to do it!' Mr. Thomasson sat dumbfounded. At length, 'You are jesting! You cannot
mean it,' he said.
'If it is marriage or nothing--and, hang her, she is as cold as a church
pillar--I do mean it,' the gentleman answered viciously; 'and so would
you if you were not an old insensible sinner! Think of her ankle, man!
Think of her waist! I never saw a waist to compare with it! Even in the
Havanna! She is a pearl! She is a jewel! She is incomparable!' 'And a porter's daughter!' 'Faugh, I don't believe it.' And he took his oath on the point.
'You make me sick!' Mr. Thomasson said; and meant it. Then, 'My dear
friend, I see how it is,' he continued. 'You have the fever on you
still, or you would not dream of such things.'
'But I do dream of her--every night, confound her!' Mr. Dunborough said;
and he groaned like a love-sick boy. 'Oh, hang it, Tommy,' he continued
plaintively, 'she has a kind of look in her eyes when she is
pleased--that makes you think of dewy mornings when you were a boy and
went fishing.' 'It is the fever!' Mr. Thomasson said, with conviction. 'It is heavy
on him still.' Then, more seriously, 'My very dear sir,' he continued,
'do you know that if you had your will you would be miserable within the
week. Remember-''Tis tumult, disorder, 'tis loathing and hate;
Caprice gives it birth, and contempt is its fate!'
'Gad, Tommy!' said Mr. Dunborough, aghast with admiration at the aptness
of the lines. 'That is uncommon clever of you! But I shall do it all the
same,' he continued, in a tone of melancholy foresight. 'I know I shall.
I am a fool, a particular fool. But I shall do it. Marry in haste and
repent at leisure!' 'A porter's daughter become Lady Dunborough!' cried Mr. Thomasson with
scathing sarcasm.