“No, no; to be sure not,” broke in Bubbleton, in an ecstasy. “The thing was delicious; such a bit of stage effect. She was there, as it might be, combing her hair, and all that sort of thing; Tom was here, raving about absence and eternal separation. You are an angry father, or uncle,—all the same; and I 'm Count Neitztachenitz, the old friend and brother officer of Tom's father. Now, let Miss Nelly—But where is she? Why, she's gone! Eh, and Basset? Basset! Why, he 's gone! Come, Tom, don't you go too. I say, my boy, devilish well got up that. You ought to have had a white satin doublet and hose, slashed with pale cherry-colored ribbons to match, small hat looped, aigrette and white plume. She was perfect; her leg and foot were three certain rounds of applause from the pit and gallery.”
“What nonsense!” said I, angrily; “we weren't playing a comedy.”
“Were n't you, though? Well, I 'm deuced sorry for it, that 's all; but it did look confoundedly like an undress rehearsal.”
“Come, come, no foolery, I beg. I'm here in a very sad plight, and this piece of nonsense may not make matters any better. Listen to me, if you can, patiently for five minutes, and give me your advice.”
I took him by the arm as I spoke, and leading him from the room,—where I saw that everything was only suggesting some piece of scenic effect,—and in as few words as I could command, explained how I was circumstanced; omitting, of course, any detail of my political bias, and only stated so much of my desire as implied my wish to be free of my contract with Basset, and at liberty to dispose of myself as I liked in future.
“I see,” cried Bubbleton, as I finished; “the old fox has this five hundred pounds of yours.”
“No, I didn't say that; I only mean—”
“Well, well, it 's all the same. If he has n't, you know he ought.”
“No; that 's not essential either.”
“No matter, he would if he could; it just comes to the same thing, and you only wish to get clear out of his hands at any cost. Is n't that it?”