Here we broke out a little; but at last she read me some of the passages in the letter.  But not the most mightily ridiculous:  yet I could hardly keep my countenance neither, especially when she came to that passage which mentions his sound health; and at which she stopped; she best knew why—­But soon resuming: 

M. Well now, Nancy, tell me what you think of it.

D. Nay, pray, Madam, tell me what you think of it.

M. I expect to be answered by an answer; not by a question!  You don’t use to be so shy to speak your mind.

D. Not when my mamma commands me to do so.

M. Then speak it now.

D. Without hearing the whole of the letter?

M. Speak to what you have heard.

D. Why then, Madam——­you won’t be my mamma Howe, if you give way to it.

M. I am surprised at your assurance, Nancy!

D. I mean, Madam, you will then be my mamma Harlowe.

M. O dear heart!—­But I am not a fool.

And her colour went and came.

D. Dear Madam, [but, indeed, I don’t love a Harlowe—­that’s what I mean,] I am your child, and must be your child, do what you will.

M. A very pert one, I am sure, as ever mother bore!  And you must be my child, do what I will!—­as much as to say, you would not, if you could help it, if I—­

D. How could I have such a thought!—­It would be forward, indeed, if I had—­when I don’t know what your mind is as to the proposal:—­when the proposal is so very advantageous a one too.

M. [Looking a little less discomposed] why, indeed, ten thousand pounds——­

D. And to be sure of outliving him, Madam!

M. Sure!—­nobody can be sure—­but it is very likely that——­

D. Not at all, Madam.  You was going to read something (but stopped) about his constitution:  his sobriety is well known—­Why, Madam, these gentlemen who have used the sea, and been in different climates, and come home to relax from cares in a temperate one, and are sober—­are the likeliest to live long of any men in the world.  Don’t you see that his very skin is a fortification of buff?

M. Strange creature!

D. God forbid, that any body I love and honour should marry a man in hopes to bury him—­but suppose, Madam, at your time of life——­

M. My time of life?—­Dear heart!—­What is my time of life, pray?

D. Not old, Madam; and that you are not, may be your danger!

As I hope to live (my dear) my mother smiled, and looked not displeased with me.

M. Why, indeed, child—­why, indeed, I must needs say—­and then I should choose to do nothing (forward as you are sometimes) to hurt you.

D. Why, as to that, Madam, I can’t expect that you should deprive yourself of any satisfaction—­

M. Satisfaction, my dear!—­I don’t say it would be a satisfaction—­but could I do any thing that would benefit you, it would perhaps be an inducement to hold one conference upon the subject.