Popping the Question — 523
A bachelor, too poor to get married, yet too susceptible to let the girls alone, was riding with a lady “all of a summer’s day,” and accidentally—(men’s arms, awkward things, are ever in the way!)—dropped an arm round her waist. No objection was made for a while, and the arm gradually relieved the side of the carriage of the pressure upon it. But of a sudden, whether from a late recognition of the impropriety of the thing, or the sight of another beau coming, never was known, the lady started with volcanic energy, and with a flashing eye exclaimed: “Mr. B., I can support myself!”—“Capital,” was the instant reply, “you are just the girl I have been looking for these five years—will you marry me?”
At a lecture of Bayard Taylor’s a lady wished for a seat, when a portly, handsome gentleman brought one, and seated her. “Oh, you’re a jewel,” said she. “Oh, no,” he replied, “I’m a jeweller—I have just set the jewel!”