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Updated: May 17, 2025
She knows whether she cares a fig for a fellow." The hero quitted him with some contempt, As Ralph Morton was a young man, and he had determined that John Todhunter was an old man, he sought another private interview with Clare, and getting her alone, said: "Clare, I've come to you for the last time. Will you marry Ralph Morton?" To which Clare replied, "I cannot marry two husbands, Richard."
And this, John Todhunter old John no more heard to his amazement when, a day or two subsequently, he instanced the probable disapproval of his mother. The match was arranged. Mrs. Doria did the wooing.
The Forey bridesmaids, five in number, and one Miss Doria, their cousin, stood as girls do stand at these sacrifices, whether happy, sad, or indifferent; a smile on their lips and tears in attendance. Old Mrs. Todhunter, an exceedingly small ancient woman, was also there.
Once a year the girls hold what they call a doll show to see who has dressed her doll the best." "Ah, I see," said Mr. Todhunter; "a little friendly rivalry." "Purely friendly," said Patty. As they started for the dining-room Mr. Todhunter adjusted his monocle and took a parting look at the doll show. "I'm afraid you think us childish, Mr. Todhunter," said Patty.
My statement, however accurate, was not wholly delicate, and I subsequently regretted it, but when a patient man loses his patience he goes to extremes. Washington Flagg straightened himself for an instant, and then smiled upon me in an amused, patronizing way quite untranslatable. "Thomas, that was neat, very neat for you. When I see Judge Ashburton Todhunter I'll tell him about it.
You are well preserved younger than most of the young men of our day. You are eminently domestic, a good son, and will be a good husband and good father. Some one you must marry. What do you think of Clare for a wife for you?" At first John Todhunter thought it would be very much like his marrying a baby. However, he listened to it, and that was enough for Mrs. Doria.
"One evening, as two or three of us were mooning about the stairs, praying secretly for a war or a famine, Todhunter, the town reporter, rushed past us with a cheer, and burst into the Sub-editor's room. We followed. He was waving his notebook above his head, and clamouring, after the manner of people in French exercises, for pens, ink, and paper.
"'What's up? cried the Sub-editor, catching his enthusiasm; 'influenza again? "'Better than that! shouted Todhunter. 'Excursion steamer run down, a hundred and twenty-five lives lost four good columns of heartrending scenes.
When, then, "the elopement in High Life," which has been described in the previous pages, burst upon the town in the morning papers, I can fancy the agitation which the news occasioned in the faithful bosoms of the generous Todhunter, and the attached Henchman. My lord was not in his own house as yet.
And indeed, I'm a little inclined to laugh at myself, now I know about it." "Now you know about what?" asked Hood, in some exasperation. "Now I know," replied the priest, "the profession of Mr Todhunter."
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