slightest approach to any designs on me. He didn't know any thing
about me, so how could he? He was jolly, and when we got to Calais he
was convivial. I attached myself to the two, and had a glorious time.
Before three days I had exchanged vows of eternal fidelity with the
lady, and all that, and had gained her consent to marry me on reaching
England. As to the old man there was no trouble at all. He made no
inquiries about my means, but wrung my hand heartily, and said God
bless me. Besides, there were no friends of my own to consider. My
parents were dead, and I had no relations nearer than cousins, for
whom I didn't care a pin.

"My wife lived at Exeter, and belonged to rather common people; but,
of course, I didn't care for that. Her own manners and style were
refined enough. She had been sent by her father to a very fashionable
boarding-school, where she had been run through the same mould as that
in which her superiors had been formed, and so she might have passed
muster any where. Her father was awfully fond of her, and proud of
her. She tyrannized over him completely. I soon found out that she had
been utterly spoiled by his excessive indulgence, and that she was the
most whimsical, nonsensical, headstrong, little spoiled beauty that
ever lived. But, of course, all that, instead of deterring me, only
increased the fascination which she exercised, and made me more madly
in love than ever.

"Her name was not a particularly attractive one; but what are names!
It was Arethusa Wiggins. Now the old man always called her 'Arry,'
which sounded like the vulgar pronunciation of 'Harry.' Of course I
couldn't call her that, and Arethusa was too infernally long, for a
fellow doesn't want to be all day in pronouncing his wife's name.
Besides, it isn't a bad name in itself, of course; it's poetic,