bride, and who had been moving round her to take in every point

of her quiet, pretty dress; “and so it was for this, my sweet Lucie,

that I brought you across the Channel, such a baby! Lord bless

me! How little I thought what I was doing! How lightly I valued the

obligation I was conferring on my friend Mr. Charles!”

“You didn’t mean it,” remarked the matter-of-fact Miss Pross,

“and therefore how could you know it? Nonsense!”

“Really? Well; but don’t cry,” said the gentle Mr. Lorry.

“I am not crying,” said Miss Pross; “you are.”

“I, my Pross?” (By this time, Mr. Lorry dared to be pleasant

with her, on occasion.)

“You were, just now; I saw you do it, and I don’t wonder at it.

Such a present of plate as you have made ’em, is enough to bring

tears into anybody’s eyes. There’s not a fork or a spoon in the

collection,” said Miss Pross, “that I didn’t cry over, last night after

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

the box came, till I couldn’t see it.”

“I am highly gratified,” said Mr. Lorry, “though, upon my

honour, I had no intention of rendering those trifling articles of

remembrance invisible to any one. Dear me! This is an occasion

that makes a man speculate on all he has lost. Dear, dear, dear! To

think that there might have been a Mrs. Lorry, any time these fifty

years almost!”

“Not at all!” From Miss Pross.