"Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. There was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a Spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the English apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete. But he wrote on. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. As Spurlock called her name, she paused and turned. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms.
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