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 when I and Donne urged him to make a choice amongst the fair bevy, he named—which do you think?”

With a queer, quiet smile, Mr. Moore replied, “Dora, of course, or Harriet.”

“Ha! ha! you’ve an excellent guess; but what made you hit on those two?”

“Because they are the tallest, the handsomest; and Dora, at least, is the stoutest; and as your friend, Mr. Sweeting, is but a little, slight figure, I concluded that, according to a frequent rule in such cases, he preferred his contrast.”

“You are right; Dora it is: but he has no chance, has he, Moore?”

“What has Mr. Sweeting, besides his curacy?”

This question seemed to tickle Malone amazingly; he laughed for full three minutes before he answered it.

“What has Sweeting? Why David has his harp, or flute, which comes to the same thing. He has a sort of pinchbeck watch; ditto, ring; ditto, eye-glass: that’s what he has.”

“How would he propose to keep Miss Sykes in gowns only?”

“Ha! ha! Excellent! I’ll ask him that next time I see him. I’ll roast him for his presumption; but no doubt he expects old Christopher Sykes would do something handsome. He is rich, is he not? They live in a large house.”

“Sykes carries on an extensive concern.”