“Then, if you please, Towlinson,” said Miss Tox, “have the goodness to turn the cushion. Which,” said Miss Tox apart to Mrs Chick, “is generally damp, my dear.”
“Yes, Miss,” said Towlinson.
“I’ll trouble you also, if you please, Towlinson,” said Miss Tox, “with this card and this shilling. He’s to drive to the card, and is to understand that he will not on any account have more than the shilling.”
“No, Miss,” said Towlinson.
“And—I’m sorry to give you so much trouble, Towlinson,” said Miss Tox, looking at him pensively.
“Not at all, Miss,” said Towlinson.
“Mention to the man, then, if you please, Towlinson,” said Miss Tox, “that the lady’s uncle is a magistrate, and that if he gives her any of his impertinence he will be punished terribly. You can pretend to say that, if you please, Towlinson, in a friendly way, and because you know it was done to another man, who died.”
“Certainly, Miss,” said Towlinson.
“And now good-night to my sweet, sweet, sweet, godson,” said Miss Tox, with a soft shower of kisses at each repetition of the adjective; “and Louisa, my dear friend, promise me to take a little something warm before you go to bed, and not to distress yourself!”
It was with extreme difficulty that Nipper, the black-eyed, who looked on steadfastly, contained herself at this crisis, and until the subsequent departure of Mrs Chick. But the nursery being at length free of visitors, she made herself some recompense for her late restraint.