ourselves in a good posture for defence."
"If I had my way," announced Major Hymen, "every woman in England should have a dozen children at least."
"What a man!" said Miss Pescod afterwards to Miss Sally Tregentil, who had dropped in for a cup of tea.
And yet the Major was a bachelor. They could not help wondering a little.
"With two such names, too!" mused Miss Sally. "'Solomon' and 'Hymen'; they certainly suggest--they would almost seem to give promise of, at least, a dual destiny."
"You mark my words," said Miss Pescod. "That man has been crossed in love."
"But who?" asked Miss Sally, her eyes widening in speculation. "Who could have done such a thing?"
"My dear, I understand there are women in London capable of anything."
The Major, you must know, had spent the greater part of his life in the capital as a silk-mercer and linen-draper--I believe, in the Old Jewry; at any rate, not far from Cheapside. He had left us at the ag