Mr. Britain shook his head. 'Not a chance of it!'

'Only think!' said Clemency. 'Well! - I suppose you mean to,
Britain, one of these days; don't you?'

A question so abrupt, upon a subject so momentous, required
consideration. After blowing out a great cloud of smoke, and
looking at it with his head now on this side and now on that, as if
it were actually the question, and he were surveying it in various
aspects, Mr. Britain replied that he wasn't altogether clear about
it, but - ye-es - he thought he might come to that at last.

'I wish her joy, whoever she may be!' cried Clemency.

'Oh she'll have that,' said Benjamin, 'safe enough.'

'But she wouldn't have led quite such a joyful life as she will
lead, and wouldn't have had quite such a sociable sort of husband
as she will have,' said Clemency, spreading herself half over the
table, and staring retrospectively at the candle, 'if it hadn't
been for - not that I went to do it, for it was accidental, I am
sure - if it hadn't been for me; now would she, Britain?'

'Certainly not,' returned Mr. Britain, by this time in that high
state of appreciation of his pipe, when a man can open his mouth
but a very little way for speaking purposes; and sitting
luxuriously immovable in his chair, can afford to turn only his
eyes towards a companion, and that very passively and gravely.
'Oh! I'm greatly beholden to you, you know, Clem.'