It was like the momentary contest in the moist eyelids of an April morning, “Whether Bridget should laugh or cry.”

She snatched up a rolling-pin⁠⸺’twas ten to one, she had laugh’d⁠⸺⁠

She laid it down⁠⸺⁠she cried; and had one single tear of ’em but tasted of bitterness, full sorrowful would the corporal’s heart have been that he had used the argument; but the corporal understood the sex, a quart major to a terce at least, better than my uncle Toby, and accordingly he assailed Mrs. Bridget after this manner.

I know, Mrs. Bridget, said the corporal, giving her a most respectful kiss, that thou art good and modest by nature, and art withal so generous a girl in thyself, that, if I know thee rightly, thou would’st not wound an insect, much less the honour of so gallant and worthy a soul as my master, wast thou sure to be made a countess of⁠⸺⁠but thou hast been set on, and deluded, dear Bridget, as is often a woman’s case, “to please others more than themselves⁠⸺”

Bridget’s eyes poured down at the sensations the corporal excited.

⸺⁠Tell me⁠⸺⁠tell me, then, my dear Bridget, continued the corporal, taking hold of her hand, which hung down dead by her side,⁠⸺⁠and, giving a second kiss⁠⸺⁠whose suspicion has misled thee?

Bridget sobb’d a sob or two⁠⸺⁠then open’d her eyes⁠⸺⁠the corporal wiped ’em with the bottom of her apron⁠⸺⁠she then open’d her heart and told him all.