“Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. He must have married when he was quite a young man. Now I do. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast.
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