“Because— Have you another glass of the stuff, my dear? ’Tis main good, and goes like fire through the veins. I thank you. Well, because—I’m married already.” “Gemini! You astound me. And when, where, and how?” “Years since when I was playing in Durham. I won’t have her trouble me, and she keeps away—but here am I,—noosed, hanged, done for. Were’t not for that curst blunder I might marry a fortune.” Mrs. Bishop mused a little on this bit of news. ’Twas to be considered how it might affect her views. He continued: “If ’twere not so I had offered myself long since to the lady. Indeed she has a melting eye.” “For Mr. Walker. Not for another,” corrected Mrs. Bishop. “I speak by the book, for I heard her tell Mr. Rich you was the perfect lover.” “Others have thought so also.” Again he stirred his glass reflective, and threw up his head, expanding his manly bosom. “If I was a man——,” says the lady, and pauses. “If you was, my dear, Sir Harry Wildair’s self would fall behind you.” She laughed coquettishly— “Well, I should at least know this, that a woman likes to be forced to compliance with her adorer when she’s too mock-modest to speak for herself. You knew that once too, Macheath?” “There’s very little I don’t know about your sweet sex, Madam. Yes, I know that. And what then?” She drew her chair nearer, and leaning on the arm of his whispered in his ear. He listened, his face changing from curiosity, to doubt, to pleasure, to surprise—as the whisper went on. Then she drew back and looked at him. “’Twould suit us both. Putting her beauty aside and I own her a pretty girl, her voice is a fortune to the man that owns her. ’Tis to make your future at a bound.” Macheath stared at her suspiciously. “You don’t propose this for nothing, I dare swear. Where’s your gain in it? I won’t play any woman’s game blindfolded!” “You don’t need to play mine. What I want is to get back to my part. I was making my name in Lucy and I like ruin as little as any woman. And if you can help me back and help yourself in doing it I’d as soon ’twas Macheath as another. I’ve a kindness for you. We’ve been comrades for many a day.” He filled his glass again absently, drawing near the sentimental stage in his cups. ’Twas a big fool of a man at best, born to be a woman’s tool one way or another, and was besides in the melting mood. “You think ’tis as easy as you say?” “Easy as roasting eggs. And once she’s yours she’s the kind that will be all tears and kisses and obedience. She’ll never look at another man, I promise you.” “Why then, my dearest, kindest of friends, ’tis worth doing, and I’m all but ashamed when I think how little you ask for yourself from the venture.”