He had not thought to find a lady so ready of humour and willing to give him a hearing. Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. “I am happy. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. . “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. I wish I could get you to imitate Thames Darrell. Wood.
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