Scarcely had our greetings been exchanged, when Bubbleton broke in, “I 've told him everything, Anna Maria. He knows the whole affair; no use in boring him with any more. I say, isn't he grown prodigiously? And a captain already,—just think of that.”
“And so, sir, you've heard of the sad predicament his folly has brought us into?”
“Hush, hush, Anna Maria!” cried Bubbleton; “no nonsense, old girl. Burke will put all to rights; he's aide-de-camp to Murat, and dines with him every day,—eh, Tom?”
“What if he be?” interrupted the lady, without permitting me time to disclaim the honor. “How can he ever—”
“I tell you, it's all arranged between us; and don't make a fuss about nothing. You 'll only make bad worse, as you always do. Come, Tom; the secret is, I shall be ruined if I don't get back to England soon. Heaven knows who receives my dividends all this time. Then that confounded tin mine! they 've mismanaged the thing so much I haven't received five hundred pounds from Cornwall since this time twelve months.”
“That you haven't,” said the lady, as with clasped hands and eyes fixed she sat staring at the little stove with the stern stoicism of a martyr.
“She knows that,” said Bubbleton, with a nod, as if grateful for even so much testimony in his favor. “And as for that scoundrel, Thistlethwait, the West India agent, I've a notion he's broke; not a shilling from him either.”
“Not sixpence,” echoed the lady.
“You hear that,” cried he, overjoyed at the concurrence. “And the fact is,—you will smile when I tell you, but upon my honor it's true,—I am actually hard up for cash.”
The idea tickled him so much, and seemed so ludicrous withal, that he fell back on the sofa, and laughed till the tears ran down his face. Not so Miss Bubbleton: her grim face grew more fixed, every feature hardened as if becoming stone, while gradually a sneer curled her thin lip; but she never spoke a word.