Eyes that made me feel as if I was under a pretty
stiff cross-examination the moment she looked at me. Fine red,
kiss-and-come-again sort of lips. Cheeks and complexion--No,
Mr. Artist, you wouldn't identify her by her cheeks and
complexion, if I drew you a picture of them this very moment. She
has had a family of children since the time I'm talking of; and
her cheeks are a trifle fatter, and her complexion is a shade or
two redder now, than when I first met her out walking with Mr.
Frank.
The marriage was to take place on a Wednesday. I decline
mentioning the year or the month. I had started as an attorney on
my own account--say six weeks, more or less, and was sitting
alone in my office on the Monday morning before the wedding-day,
trying to see my way clear before me and not succeeding
particularly well, when Mr. Frank suddenly bursts in, as white as
any ghost that ever was painted, and says he's got the most
dreadful case for me to advise on, and not an hour to lose in
acting on my advice.
"Is this in the way of business, Mr. Frank?" says I, stopping him
just as he was beginning to get sentimental. "Yes or no, Mr.
Frank?" rapping my new office paper-knife on the table, to pull
him up short all the sooner.
"My dear fellow"--he was always familiar with me--"it's in the
way of business, certainly; but friendship--"
I was obliged to pull him up short again, and regularly examine
him as if he had been in the witness-box, or he would have kept
me talking to no purpose half the day.
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