out the lady," said my mother, interpreting my
wishes for me.

"Oh, the lady," resumed Mr. MacGlue, with the air of a man who found no
great attraction in the subject proposed to him. "There's not much that
I know of to be said about the lady. A fine woman, no doubt. If you
could strip the flesh off her bones, you would find a splendid skeleton
underneath. For, mind this! there's no such thing as a finely made woman
without a good bony scaffolding to build her on at starting. I don't
think much of this lady--morally speaking, you will understand. If I
may be permitted to say so in your presence, ma'am, there's a man in the
background of that dramatic scene of hers on the bridge. However, not
being the man myself, I have nothing to do with that. My business with
the lady was just to set her vital machinery going again. And, Heaven
knows, she proved a heavy handful! It was even a more obstinate case to
deal with, sir, than yours. I never, in all my experience, met with two
people more unwilling to come back to this world and its troubles than
you two were. And when I had done the business at last, when I was
wellnigh swooning myself with the work and the worry of it, guess--I
give you leave to speak for this once--guess what were the first words
the lady said to me when she came to herself again."

I was too much excited to be able to exercise my ingenuity. "I give it
up!" I said, impatiently.

"You may well give it up," remarked Mr. MacGlue. "The first words she
addressed, sir, to the man who had dragged her out of the very jaws of
death were these: 'How dare you meddle with me? why didn't you leave
me to die?' Her exact language--I'll take my Bible oath of it. I was so
provoked that I gave her the change back (as the saying is) in her own
coin. 'There's the river handy, ma'am,' I said; 'do it again. I, for
one, won't stir a hand to save you; I promise you that.' She looked up
sharply. 'Are you the man who took me out of the river?' she said. 'God
forbid!' says I. 'I'm only the doctor who was fool enough to meddle
with you afterward.' She turned to the landlady. 'Who took me out of
the river?' she asked. The landlady told her, and mentioned your name.
'Germaine?' she said to herself; 'I know nobody named Germaine; I wonder
whether it was the man who spoke to me on the bridge?' 'Yes,' says the
landlady; 'Mr. Germaine said he met you on the bridge.' Hearing that,
she took a little time to think; and then she asked if she