d Pearson are in the same condition. America used to be their
market, but the Orders in Council have cut that off."

Malone did not seem prepared to carry on briskly a conversation of this
sort. He began to knock the heels of his boots together, and to yawn.

"And then to think," continued Mr. Moore who seemed too much taken up
with the current of his own thoughts to note the symptoms of his guest's
_ennui_--"to think that these ridiculous gossips of Whinbury and
Briarfield will keep pestering one about being married! As if there was
nothing to be done in life but to 'pay attention,' as they say, to some
young lady, and then to go to church with her, and then to start on a
bridal tour, and then to run through a round of visits, and then, I
suppose, to be 'having a family.' Oh, que le diable emporte!" He broke
off the aspiration into which he was launching with a certain energy,
and added, more calmly, "I believe women talk and think only of these
things, and they naturally fancy men's minds similarly occupied."

"Of course--of course," assented Malone; "but never mind them." And he
whistled, looked impatiently round, and seemed to feel a great want of
something. This time Moore caught and, it appeared, comprehended his
demonstrations.

"Mr. Malone," said he, "you must require refreshment after your wet
walk. I forget hospitality."

"Not at all," rejoined Malone; but he looked as if the right nail was at
last hit on the head, nevertheless. Moore rose and opened a cupboard.

"It is my fancy," said he, "to have every convenience within myself, and
not to be dependent on the feminity in the cottage yonder for every
mouthful I eat or every drop I drink. I often spend the evening and sup
here alone, and sleep with Joe Scott in the mill. Sometimes I am my own
watchman. I require little sleep, and it pleases me on a fine night to
wander for an hour or two with my musket about the hollow. Mr. Malone,
can you cook a mutton chop?"

"Try me. I've done it hundreds of times at college."

"There's a dishful, then, and there's the gridiron. Turn them quickly.
You know the secret of keeping the juices in?"

"Never fear me; you shall see. Hand a knife and fork, please."

The curate turned up his coat-cuffs, and applied himself to the cookery
with vigour. The manufacturer placed on the table plates, a loaf of
bread, a black bottle, and two tumblers. He then produced a small copper
kettle--still from the same well-stored recess,