Only Moll was now all agog to learn the Spanish dances, and I cannot easily forget how, after much coaxing and wheedling on her part, she at length persuaded Don Sanchez to show her a fandango; for, surely, nothing in the world was ever more comic than this stately Don, without any music, and in the middle of the high road, cutting capers, with a countenance as solemn as any person at a burying.

Moll ain't the gal to be fooled, and you know it.

"My poor Moll!" is all the answer Dawson can make, and that in a broken, trembling voice.