“I had best take myself away,” said the elderly gentleman, who stood at the window—“I had best take myself away, for miss may not like to speak before me—though she might, for that matter.”
“Where is the gentleman going?” said Miss Warwick; “I have but one short question to ask, and I have nothing to say that need—”
“I dare say, young lady, you can have nothing to say that you need be ashamed of, only people in distress don’t like so well to speak before third folks, I guess—though, to say the truth, I have never known, by my own experience, what it was to be in much distress since I came into the world—but I hope I am not the more hard-hearted for that—for I can guess, I say, pretty well, how those in distress feel when they come to speak. Do as you would be done by is my maxim till I can find a better—so I take myself away, leaving my better part behind me, if it will be of any service to you, madam.”
As he passed by Miss Warwick, he dropped his purse into her lap, and he was gone before she could recover from her surprise.
“Sir!—madam!” cried she, rising hastily, “here has been some strange mistake—I am not a beggar—I am much, very much obliged to you, but—”
“Nay, keep it, friend, keep it,” said Dinah Plait, pressing the purse upon Angelina; “John Barker is as rich as a Jew, and as generous as a prince. Keep it, friend, and you’ll oblige both him and me—‘tis dangerous in this world for one so young and so pretty as you are to be in great distress; so be not proud.”
“I am not proud,” said Miss Warwick, drawing her purse from her pocket; “but my distress is not of a pecuniary nature—Convince yourself—I am in distress only for a friend, an unknown friend.”
“Touched in her brain, I doubt,” thought Dinah.
“Coot ale!” exclaimed Betty Williams—“Coot heggs and pacon.”
“Does a lady of the name of Araminta—Miss Hodges, I mean—lodge here?” said Miss Warwick.