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 serve you tea.”

The old lady once in a while would come to my room and chat on many things. She questioned me why I had not brought my wife with me. I asked her if I looked like one married, reminding her that I was only twenty four yet. Saying “it is proper for one to get married at twenty four” as a beginning, she recited that Mr. Blank married when he was twenty, that Mr. So-and-So has already two children at twenty two, and marshalled altogether about half a dozen examples,–quite a damper on my youthful theory. I will then get marred at twenty four, I said, and requested her to find me a good wife, and she asked me if I really meant it.

“Really? You bet! I can’t help wanting to get married.”

“I should suppose so. Everybody is just like that when young.” This remark was a knocker; I could not say anything to that.

“But I’m sure you have a Madam already. I