at any hour. "What revolution and hubbub does not that little
instrument, the needle, avert from us!" says The Pilgrim's Scrip. Alas,
that in calamity women cannot stitch! Now that she saw Clare wanted
other than iron, it struck her she must have a husband, and be made
secure as a woman and a wife. This seemed the thing to do: and, as she
had forced the iron down Clare's throat, so she forced the husband, and
Clare gulped at the latter as she had at the former. On the very day
that Mrs. Doria had this new track shaped out before her, John Todhunter
called at the Foreys'. "Old John!" sang out Mrs. Doria, "show him up to
me. I want to see him particularly." He sat with her alone. He was a
man multitudes of women would have married--whom will they not?--and who
would have married any presentable woman: but women do want asking, and
John never had the word. The rape of such men is left to the practical
animal. So John sat alone with his old flame. He had become resigned to
her perpetual lamentation and living Suttee for his defunct rival. But,
ha! what meant those soft glances now--addressed to him? His tailor and
his hairdresser gave youth to John, but they had not the art to bestow
upon him distinction, and an undistinguished man what woman looks at?
John was an indistinguishable man. For that reason he was dry wood to a
soft glance.

And now she said: "It is time you should marry; and you are the man to be
the guide and helper of a young woman, John. You are well preserved--
younger than most of the young men of our day. You are eminently
domestic, a good son, and will be a good husband and good father. Some
one you must marry.--What do you think of Clare for a wife for you?"

At first John Todhunter thought it would be very much like his marrying a
baby. However, he listened to it, and that was enough for Mrs. Doria.