Michael sat down, and drew up the following: "If Mr. Joseph Wylie will call on Michael Penfold, at No. 3 E. C., he will hear of something to his advantage."
"To his advantage?" said Nancy, doubtfully. "Why not tell him the truth?"
"Why, that is the truth, ma'am. Isn't it to his advantage to be reconciled to an honest, virtuous, painstaking lady, that honors him with her affection--and me with her friendship? Besides, it is the common form; and there is nothing like sticking to form."
"Mr. Penfold," said Nancy, "any one can see you was born a gentleman; and I am a deal prouder to have you and your washing than I should him as pays you your wages. Pale eyes--pale hair--pale eyebrows--I wouldn't trust him to mangle a duster."
"Oh, Miss Rouse! Pray don't disparage my good master to me."
"I can't help it, sir. Thought is free, especially in this here compartment. Better speak one's mind than die o' the sulks. So shut your ear when my music jars. But one every other day is enough. If he won't come back for that, why, he must go, and I must look out for another; there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. Still, I'll not deny I have a great respect for poor Joe. Oh, Mr. Penfold, what shall I do! Oh, oh, oh!"
"There, there," said Michael, "I'll put this into the _Times_ every day."
"You are a good soul, Mr. Penfold. Oh--oh, oh!"