Now, if one thing in the world could have made Miss Chutney think more highly of the Frenchman than another, it would have been the present he had chosen—for, of all the young ladies in the “first class,” she was the most renowned for her love of “sweeties.” So she immediately proceeded to devour the love-letter and the bonbons at the same time, and both with all the ardour of a boarding-school miss.
“Oh, how kind of him!” she exclaimed, as she crunched between her teeth the little white sugar-plums that ornamented the top of the drops—“and it’s really so thoughtful. Well, I do think he’s one of the nicest-mannered Frenchmen I’ve ever known. He must be very good-tempered—and he writes such beautiful letters, and sympathises with me so warmly. Oh, how glad I am I paid such attention to my French last ‘half.’”
Having finished the drops, she tore off the back of the letter last conveyed to her, and scribbled, with the paper on her knee, a brief expression of thanks for his commiseration and confectionery.
This, of course, was followed by a third epistle—still more impassioned than the last—and with it a long stick of candied angelica, both of which were so extremely gratifying to the young lady, that she was puzzled in her mind to know which pleased her the most.
Thus matters went on till long past dusk, so that, when her supper of bread and water was brought to her by Miss Wewitz’s orders, Miss Chutney had already had such a feast of sweetmeats and gingerbread, that she felt delighted her appetite would allow her to tell the maid to take the supper back to Miss Wewitz, with her compliments, and say, that as her parents paid for something a little better than bread and water, she would rather go without food altogether than submit to be imposed upon; this message the maid, who had suffered from the schoolmistress’s ill-humour, was only too glad to have it in her power to deliver faithfully—and the consequence was, that Miss Wewitz felt herself called upon to pay a visit to the young lady.
On entering the linen-room, the schoolmistress, who had carried the bread and water back with her, placed it on one of the shelves, in her most dignified manner, and, telling Miss Chutney that she was utterly astounded at her bad, bad behaviour, begged to inform the young lady that she would get nothing else in that establishment, until she had partaken of the wholesome, though frugal meal that had been provided for her; adding, that if she went on in the way she was now going, it would not be long ere she would jump to have a meal of good white bread and water before retiring to rest. There was not a more proud, dainty girl in the whole establishment, she regretted to say, than Miss Chutney, nor one that left more orts on her plate. Miss Wewitz had long thought she wanted a good lesson on this point, and now she should have one that she would carry with her through life. And then the schoolmistress proceeded to narrate to the young lady how her dear, dear mother had once had occasion to punish her for her daintiness; for that, in her early days, boiled rice-pudding was not good enough for her; and how her dear mother had locked her up in her bed-room, for three whole days, with the plate of boiled rice pudding by her side; at the end of which time she was glad enough to eat up every scrap of it, and had really enjoyed it so much, that now she verily believed she preferred that kind of pudding to any other, and never partook of it without blessing her parent for the wholesome lesson she had taught her.
Miss Chutney said not a word, but tossed her head haughtily, and smiled, as she mentally contrasted the story with the schoolmistress’s total abstinence from her favourite dish on their “horrid rice-pudding days.”
Miss Wewitz, finding that her moral lecture on the beauties of boiled rice-pudding did not produce that solemn impression on the young lady’s mind which she had been induced to expect, requested to be informed whether Miss Chutney meant to partake of the repast that had been provided for her, or not?
Miss Wewitz paused for a reply, but Miss Chutney condescended to make no answer, and proceeded with the crimping of the lace round the edge of her apron, as if she had not even heard the question.
Miss Wewitz smiled, as she bit her lips with suppressed anger, and, bowing in her politest manner, said, perhaps Miss Chutney would wish her to go down on her bended knees, and beg of her to partake of some nourishment; adding, that of course she was nobody in that establishment—and there was not the least respect due to her—oh, no! to be sure not!—she wasn’t even worthy of being answered, not she—it wouldn’t make the slightest difference to her if Miss Chutney was seriously to injure her health by her perverse conduct—no! not the slightest in the world!—and here she simpered sarcastically, as if the bare idea of her want of sympathy with one of her parlour-boarders was an excellent joke.