The String of Pearls (1850), p. 231

moment they were alone, Ben began shaking his head and making some very
mysterious signs, which completely mystified Johanna. Indeed she began to be
afraid that Ben's intellects were not quite right, although an ordinary observer
might have very well supposed there was something the matter with his nether
garments, for he pointed to them repeatedly; and shook his head at Johanna.
"What is the matter, cousin?" she said.
"Oh, dear!—oh, dear!—oh—oh—oh!"
"Are you ill?"
"No, but I only wonder as you ain't. Didn't I see you in Fleet-street with these here on?—oh!—oh!—not these here exactly, but another pair. These
would be a trifle too large for you. Oh, dear-a-me! my heart bled all for to see
such a young and delicate little puss as you a taking to wear the thingamies so
soon."
Johanna now began to understand what Ben meant, namely, that he had seen
her in Fleet-street disguised in male attire, with her young friend Arabella
Wilmot.
"Oh, Ben," she said, you must not think ill of me on that account."
"But—but," said Ben, rather hesitatingly, as if he were only putting a doubtful proposition, "wasn't it rather unusual?"
"Yes, Ben, but there were reasons why I put on such garments. Surely it
was better to do so than—than—to—"
"Than to go without any?" said Ben.
"No—no, I did not say that—I mean it was better for me to forget a little of that maiden delicacy which—which—than to let him—"
She burst into tears.
"Holloa!" cried Ben, as he immediately folded her in an immense embrace, that went very near to smothering her. "Don't you cry, and you may wear what you like, and I'll come and help you to put 'em on. Come, come, there's a nice little dear, don't you cry. Lord bless you! you know how fond I am of you, and always was since you was a little tottering thing, and couldn't say my name right. Don't you cry. You shall wear 'em as often as you like, and I'll go behind you in the street, and if anybody only so much as says half a word to you, I'll be down upon 'em. Fetch 'em now and put 'em on, my dear."
Johanna must have laughed if her life had depended upon her gravity, for all that Ben said upon the subject was uttered in the sheer simplicity of a kind heart, and well she knew that in his rough way he doated on her, and thought there was not such another being in the whole world as she. And yet he looked upon her as a child, and the imperceptible flight of time had made no difference in Ben's ideas concerning Johanna. She was still to him the sweet little child he had so often dandled upon his knee, and brought fruit and sweetmeats to,
when such things were great treasures. After a few moments he let her go, and Johanna was able to draw breath again.
"Ben," she said, "I will tell you all.''
"All what?"
"How I came to put on—the—the—"
"Oh, these here—very good. Cut on, and let's know all the particulars. I suppose you felt cold, my dear, eh?"
"No—no."
"No? Well then, tell it quick, for I was always a mortal bad hand at guessing. Your father is fitting an old gentleman with a pair of spectacles, and he seems hard to please, so we shall have lots of time. Go on."
"Your good opinion is of such moment to me," said Johanna, "for I have very few to love me; now that you have seen me in such a disguise, I should feel unhappy if I did not tell why I wore it."
Ben lent the most attentive ear to what she said, and then Johanna briefly and distinctly told him all the story of Mark Ingestrie, and how he had, as she thought, mysteriously disappeared at the barber's shop in Fleet-street. It will be seen that she still clung to the idea that the Thornhill of the arrived ship