Of a Meeting near Fulham
aware of my meaning. He that steals from his mistress is a black thief, and you may be thankful if I do not prove that on your jacket.”
He sat still, appearing to think, but manifestly perplexed.
“Come, vomit,” says I, and I raised my hand.
“Sirrah”—he begins quite fiercely, and surveys me. Then all of a sudden he changes, and producing a packet from his pocket, hands it to me with a slight bow, but gnawing his lip all the while. “I acknowledge my fault,” he says. “But indeed ’twas a present of mine to the lady, with a stone for every year of her life.”
As he spoke I was dangling the toy in my finger, and her ladyship’s face, which had been gleaming with satisfaction, flamed suddenly from her natural colour, and she cried out some sharp exclamation—for indeed there were nearer forty jewels in the string than thirty. But the possession of Old Rowley, together with the pat rejoinder which so put her ladyship about, tickled me so, that I could scarce forbear from laughter. And, sooth to
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