is as you represent, I'll accept your offer, and I'll be your good
lady.'

And then I went back to aunt and told her Wilkinses was out of sago,
but they would have some in on Wednesday.

It was all right about the bowl. She never noticed the difference. I
was married to the old gentleman, whose name was Fytche, the next
week by special licence at St. Nicholas Cole Abbey, Queen Victoria
Street, which is very near that beautiful glass and china shop where
I had tried to match the bowl; and my aunt died three months later
and left me everything. Sarah married in quite a poor way. That
quinsy of hers cost her dear.

Mr. Fytche was very well off, and I should have liked living at his
house well enough if it hadn't been for the china. The house was
cram full of it, and he could think of nothing else. No more going
out to dinner; no amusements; nothing as a girl like me had a right
to look for. So one day I told him straight out I thought he had
better give up collecting and sell aunt's things, and we would buy a
nice little place in the country with the money.

'But, my dear,' he said, 'you can't sell your aunt's china. She left
it stated expressly in her will.'

And he rubbed his hands and chuckled, for he thought he had got me
there.

'No, but you can,' I said, 'the china is yours now. I know enough
about law to know that; and you can sell it, and you shall.'