This threat of Tony must be taken cum grano, seeing that he was only about four feet eight inches high and had the arms of a girl of sixteen, whereas his friend Clem could easily have lifted him up with one hand and have thrown him across the room. But Tony's objurgations did Clem good, and he was fast regaining his interest in mutton-chops, bitter-beer, and the progress of his picture, when the deplorable meeting we have just recorded took place, and all hopes of his convalescence were at once scattered to the winds.
The siren who was the cause of all this commotion in our young painter's heart, having shut the door behind her, ran quickly up-stairs and burst into a tiny boudoir, where another young lady, also dressed in black, was sitting calmly at work.
"Mora! Mora! what do you think? This Mr. Clement Fildew, whom god-papa has sent here to paint my portrait, turns out to be the same gentleman who took my part in the train the other day when that man insulted me so dreadfully. Is it not strange that we should meet again in this way, and so soon afterwards?"
"Very strange, indeed. But such coincidences happen oftener in real life than many people imagine."
"But the strangest part is to come, dear. Mr. Fildew doesn't take me for myself, but for you."
"How can he take you for me, Cecilia, when he and I have never seen each other?"
"I mean that he doesn't take me for Miss Collumpton. He believes me to be somebody else living under the same roof with that paragon."
"But why did you not undeceive him the moment you discovered his mistake?"
"I don't intend to undeceive him just yet, it is such fun to be mistaken for somebody else."
"But you cannot keep him in ignorance much longer. He has come here to take your portrait."