My messmate, with all manner of humility, now made his request, which being granted, we went down together to my chest, and making a bundle of all the clothes that required alteration, we placed that and ourselves in a shore-boat, and made our way to the tailor's. I was there introduced to the lovely Jemima. She looked like a very pretty doll, modelled with crumbs of white bread; she was so soft, so fair, and so unmeaning. After the order was given, my maker of the outward man hazarded a few inquiries, in a manner so kind and so obliging, that quite made me lose sight of their impertinence. When he found that I had leave to remain on shore, and that my pocket-book was far from being ill-furnished, he expatiated very feelingly upon the exactions of living at inns, offered me a bed for nothing, provided only that I would pay for my breakfast, and appoint him my tailor in ordinary; and declared that he would leave no point unturned to make me comfortable and happy. As this conversation took place in the little parlour at the back of the shop, Jemima--Miss Jemima--was present, and, as I seemed to hesitate, the innocent-looking dear slily came up beside me, and, taking my hand, pressed it amorously, stealing at me a look with eyes swimming with a strange expression. This by-play decided the business. The agreement was made, the terms being left entirely to Mr Tapes. Covering my inappropriate dress with my blue surtout, I was about leaving with my messmate, when the young lady said to her father, "Perhaps Mr Rattlin would like to see his room before he goes out?" "Not particularly." "Oh, but you must. You may come in, and I and the servant may be out. This way--you must not come up, Mr Pridhomme, _your_ boots are so abominably dirty. There, isn't it a nice room?--you pretty, pretty boy," said she, jumping up, and giving me a long kiss, that almost took my breath away. "Don't tell old leather-chops, will you, and I _shall_ love you so." "Who is old leather-chops--your father?" "Dear me, no; never mind him. I mean your messmate, Mr Pridhomme." "I'm stepping into life," thought I, as I went downstairs, "and with no measured strides either." "What do you think of Jemima?" said Mr Pridhomme, as we walked arm-in-arm towards the ramparts. "Pretty." "Pretty!--why she's an angel! If there was ever an angel on earth, it is Jemima Tapes. But what is mere beauty? Nothing compared to sincerity and innocence--she is all innocence and sincerity." "I am glad that you believe so." "Believe so--why, look at her! She is all innocence. She won't let her father kiss her." "Why?" "She says it is so indelicate." "How does she know what is, or what is not, indelicate?" "Damn it, younker, you'd provoke a saint. She assures me when she is forced to shake hands with a grown-up man, that it actually gives her a cold shudder all over. I don't think that she ever kissed anybody but her mother, and that was years ago."