Part 10 (2/2)

At the idea of Brazen Nose College, another laugh comes from the invalid. ”I suppose they've all got bra.s.s noses there,” he says; and explodes at this joke. The poor little laugh ends in a cough, and mamma's travelling-basket, which contains everything, produces a bottle of syrup, labelled ”Master A. Newcome. A teaspoonful to be taken when the cough is troublesome.”

”'Oh, the delightful sea! the blue, the fresh, the ever free,'” sings the young lady, with a shake. (I suppose the maritime song from which she quoted was just written at this time.) ”How much better this is than going home and seeing those horrid factories and chimneys! I love Doctor Goodenough for sending us here. What a sweet house it is! Everybody is happy in it, even Miss Quigley is happy, mamma. What nice rooms! What pretty chintz! What a--oh, what a--comfortable sofa!” and she falls down on the sofa, which, truth to say, was the Rev. Charles Honeyman's luxurious sofa from Oxford, presented to him by young Cibber Wright of Christchurch, when that gentleman-commoner was eliminated from the University.

”The person of the house,” mamma says, ”hardly comes up to Dr.

Goodenough's description of her. He says he remembers her a pretty little woman when her father was his private tutor.”

”She has grown very much since,” says the girl. And an explosion takes place from the sofa, where the little man is always ready to laugh at any joke, or anything like a joke, uttered by himself or by any of his family or friends. As for Doctor Goodenough, he says laughing has saved that boy's life.

”She looks quite like a maid,” continues the lady. ”She has hard hands, and she called me mum always. I was quite disappointed in her.” And she subsides into a novel, with many of which kind of works, and with other volumes, and with workboxes, and with wonderful inkstands, portfolios, portable days of the month, scent-bottles, scissor-cases, gilt miniature easels displaying portraits, and countless gimcracks of travel, the rapid Kuhn has covered the tables in the twinkling of an eye.

The person supposed to be the landlady enters the room at this juncture, and the lady rises to receive her. The little wag on the sofa puts his arm round his sister's neck, and whispers, ”I say, Eth, isn't she a pretty girl? I shall write to Doctor Goodenough and tell him how much she's grown.” Convulsions follow this sally, to the surprise of Hannah, who says, ”Pooty little dear!--what time will he have his dinner, mum?”

”Thank you, Mrs. Honeyman, at two o'clock,” says the lady with a bow of her head. ”There is a clergyman of your name in London; is he a relation?” The lady in her turn is astonished, for the tall person breaks out into a grin, and says, ”Law, mum, you're speakin' of Master Charles. He's in London.”

”Indeed!--of Master Charles?”

”And you take me for missis, mum. I beg your pardon, mum,” cries Hannah.

The invalid hits his sister in the side with a weak little fist. If laughter can cure, salva est res. Doctor Goodenough's patient is safe. ”Master Charles is missis's brother, mum. I've got no brother, mum--never had no brother. Only one son, who's in the police, mum, thank you. And law bless me, I was going to forget! If you please, mum, missis says, if you are quite rested, she will pay her duty to you, mum.”

”Oh, indeed,” says the lady, rather stiffly; and, taking this for an acceptance of her mistress's visit, Hannah retires.

”This Miss Honeyman seems to be a great personage,” says the lady. ”If people let lodgings, why do they give themselves such airs?”

”We never saw Monsieur de Boigne at Boulogne, mamma,” interposes the girl.

”Monsieur de Boigne, my dear Ethel! Monsieur de Boigne is very well.

But--” here the door opens, and in a large cap bristling with ribbons, with her best chestnut front, and her best black silk gown, on which her gold watch s.h.i.+nes very splendidly, little Miss Honeyman makes her appearance, and a dignified curtsey to her lodger.

That lady vouchsafes a very slight inclination of the head indeed, which she repeats when Miss Honeyman says, ”I am glad to hear your ladys.h.i.+p is pleased with the apartments.”

”Yes, they will do very well, thank you,” answers the latter person, gravely.

”And they have such a beautiful view of the sea!” cries Ethel.

”As if all the houses hadn't a view of the sea, Ethel! The price has been arranged, I think? My servants will require a comfortable room to dine in--by themselves, ma'am, if you please. My governess and the younger children will dine together. My daughter dines with me--and my little boy's dinner will be ready at two o'clock precisely, if you please. It is now near one.”

”Am I to understand----” interposed Miss Honeyman.

”Oh! I have no doubt we shall understand each other, ma'am,” cried Lady Anne Newcome (whose n.o.ble presence the acute reader has no doubt ere this divined and saluted). ”Doctor Goodenough has given me a most satisfactory account of you--more satisfactory perhaps than--than you are aware of.” Perhaps Lady Anne's sentence was not going to end in a very satisfactory way for Miss Honeyman; but, awed by a peculiar look of resolution in the little lady, her lodger of an hour paused in whatever offensive remark she might have been about to make. ”It is as well that I at last have the pleasure of seeing you, that I may state what I want, and that we may, as you say, understand each other. Breakfast and tea, if you please, will be served in the same manner as dinner. And you will have the kindness to order fresh milk every morning for my little boy--a.s.s's milk--Doctor Goodenough has ordered a.s.s's milk. Anything further I want I will communicate through the person who spoke to you--Kuhn, Mr. Kuhn; and that will do.”

A heavy shower of rain was descending at this moment, and little Mrs.

Honeyman looking at her lodger, who had sate down and taken up her book, said, ”Have your ladys.h.i.+p's servants unpacked your trunks?”

”What on earth, madam, have you--has that to do with the question?”

”They will be put to the trouble of packing again, I fear. I cannot provide--three times five are fifteen--fifteen separate meals for seven persons--besides those of my own family. If your servants cannot eat with mine, or in my kitchen, they and their mistress must go elsewhere.

And the sooner the better, madam, the sooner the better!” says Mrs.

Honeyman, trembling with indignation, and sitting down in a chair spreading her silks.

”Do you know who I am?” asks Lady Anne, rising.

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