But you look grave upon it. Who the
devil is it 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 Grey---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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