Old Colson looked at him a minute, and partly believed he was a brother sufferer; for Gardiner never was what the world has since denominated a dandy, he was never even a beau; he was careless in his dress, and very abrupt in his address,—extremely clever and extremely eccentric.
“Why, this is it,” said the old fisherman, “if the foul fiend treats you as he does me, he makes us both such hideous objects that nobody can bear to look at us.”
There was no little colour in the artist’s face at this moment: he had met with a light and shade, an odd mixture upon his palette not easily defined, and he looked himself rather vacant upon the fisherman.
“I see how it is,” said Robin; “they have been at work upon you, and have put your robes out of order; but give them a blast of this ram’s horn, and you will soon get rid of them.”
Here the old man presented a ram’s horn to the astonished artist.
“What does the man mean, Mrs. Cobbold? what does the man mean?”
This was rather a delicate point to answer; but the little shrewd Mary, who perfectly well knew what the old man meant, said at once with the most perfect innocence—
“Oh, Mr. Gardiner! Robin means that you look so dirty and shabby that you must be bewitched.”
At this moment a servant brought a note to the lady, which, on opening, she read as follows:—