“He’s a fine handsome man,” she said. “He looks like a lord when he comes marching up the aisle, not an old Methusaleh, like most of ’em.” “Ah!” cried Pickering, with a groan, “that’s the way the women are led away. He’s a fine fellow, he is! oh, yes, he’s like a lord, with bills in every shop in the town, and not a penny to pay ’em.” “Them shops!” said Mrs. Purcell. “I don’t wonder, if a gentleman’s of a yielding disposition. They offer you this, and they offer you that, and won’t take an answer. It’s their own fault. They didn’t ought to put their temptations in folk’s way. It’s like dodging a bait about a poor fish’s nose; and then swearing it will make up lovely, and be far more becoming than what you’ve got on. I think it’s scandalous, for my part. They deserve to lose their money now and again.” “They say he’s going to be married,” said old Pick, stolidly. “Married! You’re dreaming, Pick! Lord bless us,” said Mrs. Purcell, “that’s news, that is! Married? I don’t believe a word of it; at his age!” “You said just now he wasn’t a Methusaleh, and no more he is; he’s a fine handsome man. He thinks a deal of himself, and that’s what makes other folks think a deal of him. The women’s as bad as the shops,” said old Pick; “they bring it on themselves. Here’s a man as is never out of mischief. I’ve seen him regularly coming home--well--none the better for his liquor; and gamblin’ day and night, playing billiards, betting, I don’t know what. We all know what that comes to; and a grown-up family besides----”