“Take a seat, Miss Bozerne,” she muttered, between her patent minerals, as we used to call them; and there I was, sitting upon thorns, metaphorically and really—for the chair I took had the seat all worked in roses and briars and cactus, while there was that tiresome old thing with the little glass dew-drop knobs at the end of the sprays in her cap, nodding and dancing about every time she came to a hard word.
“She is writing home, I know,” I said to myself, “and then she means to take me back; for it must all be found out—and, oh dear! oh dear! what shall I do?”
The scene there would be at home came up before me like a vision, and I fancied I could hear papa storming, though he is not very particular, and his rage is soon over, just like a storm, and he is all sunshine after. But mamma. Ah! how she would go on, and tell me that I had been sent down to cure me of my penchant for the curate, to descend so low as a policeman.
“Just like a common cook in an area!” I seemed to hear her say. But it was only Mrs Blunt mumbling to herself as she sat writing.
And then I half felt as if I should like to run away altogether; and next I thought that if some one had been there all ready with a fly or a post-chaise, I would have gone with him anywhere.
Directly after I gave such a jump, for there was the crunching of a step upon the gravel sweep, and I felt the blood all flush up in my face again; for it was his step—his, and it seemed that he was to be brought in, and we were to be confronted, and there would be quite a dénouement; but then I felt as brave as could be, for was not he close at hand to take my part? And I felt ready to say things that I could not have uttered, and to hear scoldings that would have killed me five minutes before.
I was just feeling ready to sink through the carpet when the old wretch raised her head.
“Ah! there’s Monsieur Achille,” she cried in a decisive tone, and now I felt as if it must be coming. But no, the tiresome old thing still kept me upon the thorns of suspense; while I heard the front door squeak and his step in the hall, the opening and closing of a door, and I felt as if I could have rushed to meet him and tell him of the horrible state of fear that I had been in; besides which, I knew that he would have a corrected exercise to return me, and I was burning to see what he would say.
“And now, Miss Bozerne,” said Mrs Blunt, laying down her pen, and crossing her hands upon the table, so as to show her rings, while she spoke in the most stately of ways—“and now Miss Bozerne, I have a crow to—er—er—I have, that is to say, a few words to speak to you concerning something that has lately, very lately, come to my ears; and you know, my dear, that I have extremely long ears for this sort of thing.”
And then she tried to draw herself up, and look august; but the vulgar old thing only made herself more common and obtrusive, while I began to tremble in the most agitated manner.