“Do you hear, miss!” he exclaimed, stamping his foot on the boards, as if to give additional force and authority to his commands,—“do you hear me, I say! Get up this minute, when I command you!”
The semi-nautical gentleman was so unused to this utter disregard of his orders, that when he saw not the least effort made to stir, even at the end of his second appeal, he stood, as it were, dumbfoundered for a moment, at the determination of the fancied school-girl.
Then he shouted sharply, and in a tone of extreme anger, “Miss Chutney, I say!—Miss Chutney!—do you mean to rise from your present position, or do you wish me to degrade you so far as to force you to do so?”
Still no movement was made; whereupon the impatient guardian, unable to brook the slight any longer, seized the figure roughly by the arm, and began shaking it violently.
In the act of so doing, the hands were forced down, and the black silk apron fell from before the face, revealing the wooden features of the artist’s model.
The schoolmistress no sooner discovered the trick that had been played, and thought of the pains she had taken to expose her misfortune to the young lady’s guardian, than she uttered a piercing shriek, and swooned into the arms of the shipping agent.
“D——n it, madam!” cried the city gentleman, who had but little belief in hysterics, fainting fits, or, indeed, any other of the feminine arts of producing an impression, “this will never do;” and seizing the glass of water that had been originally placed there, with the bread, for the imprisoned Chutney, he dashed the whole contents into the lady’s face.
Miss Wewitz started up suddenly, and shaking the water from her hair, till the sprinkles flew about as from a twirling mop, she hurried down the stairs, shrieking, in her shrillest voice, “She’s gone! she’s gone! she’s gone!”
In a minute the whole establishment were in the hall—staring in mute astonishment at one another—and endeavouring to pacify the frantic Wewitz.
No sooner did the schoolmistress set eyes upon her respected mother, than she rushed madly to her, and told her that she had been the ruin of her, and that if it hadn’t been for her, Miss Chutney would still have been in the house: this so affected the elder Wewitz, that she began, in her turn, to tear her hair; but, unfortunately, each time she clasped her head, as if distracted, the front of her wig was seen to move gradually round, until the natural parting stood right over one ear, while the top-knot was seen projecting above the other.