‘Why, then, I’ll tell you what,’ tittered Arthur, ‘we’ll drink—he, he, he!—we’ll drink a lady.’
‘The ladies?’ said Newman.
‘No, no, Mr. Noggs,’ replied Gride, arresting his hand, ‘A lady. You wonder to hear me say A lady. I know you do, I know you do. Here’s little Madeline. That’s the toast. Mr. Noggs. Little Madeline!’
‘Madeline!’ said Newman; inwardly adding, ‘and God help her!’
The rapidity and unconcern with which Newman dismissed his portion of the golden water, had a great effect upon the old man, who sat upright in his chair, and gazed at him, open-mouthed, as if the sight had taken away his breath. Quite unmoved, however, Newman left him to sip his own at leisure, or to pour it back again into the bottle, if he chose, and departed; after greatly outraging the dignity of Peg Sliderskew by brushing past her, in the passage, without a word of apology or recognition.
Mr. Gride and his housekeeper, immediately on being left alone, resolved themselves into a committee of ways and means, and discussed the arrangements which should be made for the reception of the young bride. As they were, like some other committees, extremely dull and prolix in debate, this history may pursue the footsteps of Newman Noggs; thereby combining advantage with necessity; for it would have been necessary to do so under any circumstances, and necessity has no law, as all the world knows.
‘You’ve been a long time,’ said Ralph, when Newman returned.
‘He was a long time,’ replied Newman.
‘Bah!’ cried Ralph impatiently. ‘Give me his note, if he gave you one: his message, if he didn’t. And don’t go away. I want a word with you, sir.’
Newman handed in the note, and looked very virtuous and innocent while his employer broke the seal, and glanced his eye over it.