“His wife’s a proper woman—that she is! She has been as proper a woman as any in the Chepe. She paints now, and yet she keeps her husband’s old customers to him still. In troth, a fine-fac’d wife in a wainscot-carved seat, is a worthy ornament to any tradesman’s shop. And an attractive one I’le warrant.” This handsome, buxom, bouncing widow fell in love with Pastor Johnson, and he with her, while he was “a prisoner in the Clink,” he having been thrown therein by the Archbishop of Canterbury for his persistent preaching of Puritanism. Many of his friends “thought this not a good match” for him at any time; and all deemed it ill advised for a man in prison to pledge himself in matrimony to any one. And soon zealous and meddlesome Brother George Johnson took a hand in advice and counsel, with as high a hand as if Francis had been a child instead of a man of thirty-two, and a man of experience as well, and likewise older than George. George at first opened warily, saying in his letters that “he was very loth to contrary his brother;” still Brother Francis must be sensible that this widow was noted for her pride and vanity, her light and garish dress, and that it would give great offence to all Puritans if he married her, and “it (the vanity and extravagance, etc.) should not be refrained.” There was then some apparent concession and yielding on the widow’s part, for George for a time “sett down satysfyed”; when suddenly, to his “great grief” and discomfiture, he found that his brother had been “inveigled and overcarried,” and the sly twain had been married secretly in prison.