'It does not much signify whom one has to make clothes for,' observed
Mrs. Mel. Her son happily did not mark her.

'I think we neither of us were made for the days of pence and pounds,' he
continued. 'Now, mother, sit down, and talk to me about him. Did he
mention me? Did he give me his blessing? I hope he did not suffer.
I'd have given anything to press his hand,' and looking wistfully at the
Percy lifting the hand of Douglas dead, Evan's eyes filled with big
tears.

'He suffered very little,' returned Mrs. Mel, 'and his last words were
about you.'

'What were they?' Evan burst out.

'I will tell you another time. Now undress, and go to bed. When I talk
to you, Van, I want a cool head to listen. You do nothing but yawn yard-
measures.'

The mouth of the weary youth instinctively snapped short the abhorred
emblem.

'Here, I will help you, Van.'

In spite of his remonstrances and petitions for talk, she took off his
coat and waistcoat, contemptuously criticizing the cloth of foreign
tailors and their absurd cut.

'Have you heard from Louisa?' asked Evan.