If there was any one thing fixed on his mind it was that, as soon as he had put together a large lump of gold, he would go back to Cambridge and win Hester Bolton to be his wife.

But yet what a singular woman was this Mrs.Smith! As to marrying her, that of course had been a joke produced by the petulance of his snoring friend.

He began to dislike Shand, because he did snore so loudly, and drank so much bottled ale, and smelt so strongly of cavendish tobacco.

Mrs.Smith was at any rate much too good for Shand.

Surely she must have been a lady, or her voice would not have been sweet and silvery?
And though she did bristle roughly against the ill-usage of the world, and say strong things, she was never absolutely indelicate or even loud.