A facetious reporter at the police court the next day made a funny paragraph out of the showman’s appearance, the magistrate having requested the “dawg” to be brought into court. Momus made a bow to the bench, and stood upon her hind-legs; which put the magistrate in such a good humour, that he let off the showman with a caution.
The incident was anything but a funny one to the Dibbles, for they lost their lodgers, and Mrs. Dibble lost her respectability and her control of the street; so she gave vent to her feelings by upbraiding Thomas, and the end was that they were exceedingly miserable, and Mrs. Dibble talked of a “judicious separation,” which was a thing that her “wortht dreamth had never brought to her mind; and oh! if her poor father could only rithe and thee her!” Poor Dibble, he could think of nothing but getting into the Thames, or thrusting his head into the water-butt. He thought better of this by-and-by, however; but not until he had looked at the Thames by gas-light and dipped his head a little way into the water-butt. If the water had not been so cold, we believe Dibble would have put his head deeper into it; but, oh, it was so very cold!
Meanwhile Mr. Jefferson Crawley, alias Shuffleton Gibbs, and the showman’s daughter, were spending their honeymoon, and the ex-swell was educating the young lady, and introducing her into a new world.
CHAPTER XII.
DISCOURSES CHIEFLY OF UNREQUITED LOVE.
“I want you to come and spend a week with me, Phœbe,” said the Miss Tallant to the young lady who had abdicated.
They had met near Barton Hall, each on a morning’s ramble in the park, the spring sunshine was so tempting.
“You must really grant this as a favour to me. I want your advice about a hundred things.”
“Mother is not well,” said Phœbe, hesitatingly; “and father is so busy just now in negotiations for a new farm in Lincolnshire.”
At first blush it almost seemed as if there were a little affectation in this careful mention of her new position, and the display of duty, on Phœbe’s part; but it was not so. Phœbe had argued out her duty, had reasoned with herself upon the course which she ought to pursue; she had prayed earnestly, and religiously striven to see aright, and the end was that she determined to act her part as became a dutiful child. It was not for her to judge her mother’s conduct, nor to repine at her change of fortune. If she had lost wealth and station, she had found a mother and father, and she had obtained thereby perfect freedom in the expression of her love for Arthur Phillips.
On the whole, then, Phœbe’s real happiness had rather been enhanced by the discovery that she was not the wealthy Christopher Tallant’s daughter. A certain feeling of regret would make itself manifest to her now and then when she remembered the luxuries of the Hall, the charming books, the pictures, the familiar boudoir, with its dainty furniture; but this feeling was soon followed by a remembrance of the vague sense of loneliness which often afflicted her there, and the consciousness of being neglected by her father. Though there had been scarcely a wish that she could not gratify, so far as money was concerned, her life had not been altogether a happy one; it was calm and peaceful, but there had seemed to be no motive in it.