fit me, I'd cut my arm off
and put it under a glass case. Lovers are sent out to do all possible
and impossible things in order to deserve their lady-loves. You shall
go and wander about till you find a glove with ten buttons to fit
me, then I'll consent to be Mrs.----Jones." By all of which little
manoeuvres Frank was charmed and oppressed to the last degree. When
she would call herself the "future Mrs.----Jones," he would almost
feel inclined to abandon both the name and the property. "Why not
be Mrs. Morony," Rachel would say, "or Mrs. Ballintubber? The
Ballintubber, of Ballintubber, would sound exquisitely, and then I
should always be called 'Madam.'"

Her beauty was all but perfect, as far as symmetry was concerned,
only that there was not enough of it; and for the perfection of
female beauty a tone of colour is, methinks, needed somewhat darker
than that which prevailed with Rachel O'Mahony. Her hair was so light
that one felt it rather than saw it, as one feels the sunlight. It
was soft and feathery, as is the under plumage on the wings of some
small tropical birds. "A lock of my hair!" she had once said to
Frank; "but it will all go into nothing. You should have paid your
vows to some girl who could give you a good lump of hair fit to stuff
a pillow with. If you have mine you will think in a few weeks that
the spiders have been there and have left their dust behind." But
she gave him the lock of hair, and laid it on his lips with her own
little hands.

There was not enough of her beauty. Even in touching her a lover
could not but feel that he had to deal with a little child. In
looking at her he could only look down upon her. It was not till
she spoke, and that her words came to his assistance, that he found
that he had to deal with one who was not altogether a child. "Mr.
Mahomet M. Moss declares his opinion that I shall be seen above the
gaslights. It was very civil and complimentary of Mahomet M. M. But
I mean to make myself heard. Mahomet M. M. did not seem to think of
this." Since Frank had known her she had taken every opportunity in
her power of belittling Mahomet M. M., as she was wont to call Mr.
Moss.

Frank Jones was, in truth, a handsome stalwart young man, clever
enough for the world, who thought a good deal of himself, and who
thought very much more of the girl whom he loved. It was chiefly
because he was absolutely unlike an American that Rachel O'Mahony
had come to love him. Who does not kno