young man," he said,--and
as he spoke he touched Robinson on the shoulder,--"perhaps, young
man, you wouldn't mind having a few words with me outside the door."

"Sir," said the other with some solemnity, "I am not aware that I
have the honour of your acquaintance."

"I'm William Brisket, butcher," said he; "and if you don't come out
when I asks you, by jingo, I'll carry you."

The lady had fainted. The crowd of dancers was standing round, with
inquiring faces. That female spectre repeated the odious words, still
pointing at him with her finger, "He's a bill-sticker!" Brisket was
full fourteen stone, whereas Robinson might perhaps be ten. What was
Robinson to do? "Are you going to walk out, or am I going to carry
you?" said the Hercules of the slaughter-house.

"I will do anything," said Robinson, "to relieve a lady's
embarrassment."

They walked out on to the landing-place, whither not a few of the
gentlemen and some of the ladies followed them.

"I say, young man," said Brisket, "do you know who that young woman
is?"

"I certainly have the honour of her acquaintance," said Robinson.

"But perhaps you haven't the honour of knowing that she's my
wife,--as is to be. Now you know it." And then the coarse monster
eyed him from head to foot. "Now you may go home to your mother,"
said he. "But don't tell her anything of it, because it's a secret."

He was fifteen stone at least, and Robinson was hardly ten. Oh, how
vile is the mastery which matter still has over mind in many of the
concerns of life! How can a man withstand the assault of a bull? What
was Robinson to do? He walked downstairs into the street, leaving
Maryanne behind with the butcher.

Some days after this he contrived a meeting with his love, and he
then learned the history of that engagement. "She hated Brisket,"
she said. "He was odious to her. He was always greasy and smelt of
meat;--but he had a respectable business."

"And is my Maryanne mercenary?" asked Robinson.

"Now, George," said she, "it's no use you scolding me, and I won't be
scolded. Ma says that I must be civil to him, and I'm not going to
quarrel with ma. At any rate not yet."

"But surely, Maryanne--"

"It's no good you surelying me, George, for I won't be surelyed. If
you don't like me you can leave me."

"Maryanne, I adore you."

"That's all very well, and I hope you do; but why did you make a row
with that man the other night?"

"But, dearest love, he made the row w