chap, Cowrie,--a match for any mamma in England, I can tell you. He is not
going to marry any woman but the one he wishes to marry. No more am I.
That's why I can't marry. I've got no money. The governor picked out a
young woman from Liverpool for me last year,--a brewer's daughter, with
pots of it,--and wanted me to make up to her."

"Oh, he did! What did you do about it?" asked Bijou, in a low voice.

"Well, you see, just then I was most awfully hard up, and couldn't afford
to break with the governor; and so--"

"I'd be ashamed to say any more about it. Addressing a girl just for her
money!" interjected Bijou warmly, disappointed that he had not scorned the
proposition utterly.

"It didn't go that far. I thought it might be a good thing, you know. And
so I tried it,--spooning, you know," said he placidly.

"Oh, indeed!" commented Bijou sarcastically. "Very honorable of you, I am
sure, and delightful for the girl to have such a disinterested admirer.
How did it end?"

"How you do pick,a fellow up!" remonstrated Mr. Ramsay amiably. "It sounds
awfully conceited to say so, of course, but I think I could have carried
off the cup if I had liked. At least every one said she was hard hit. And
she wasn't long in the tooth, or very ugly, or vulgar, or anything; but
somehow I couldn't stand it. I got to hate her. She breathed so hard when
she danced, for one thing. Regular grampus. Upon my word, she almost blew
my gibus away from under my arm sometimes. Regular snorts. And then she
was always smilin'. And she talked an awful lot about Goethe and Schiller,