The abashed coachman instantly paid up the salute in arrear. Unblessed by birthright with self-possession, he had not even the advantage of experience in the first families, where he might have learned a little from good example: he was a raw uncouth country servant, with the great merit of being cheap, whom Miss Norman had undertaken to educate; but he was still so far from proficient, that in the importance of breaking the death to his mistress, he had omitted one of those minor tokens of respect which she always rigorously exacted.
It was now my own turn to come forward, and as deferentially as if she had been indeed the last of the Conqueror’s Normandy pippins, I tendered a seat in my chaise, which she tacitly declined, with a gracious gesture of head and hand.
“If you please, Ma’am,” said Humphrey, taking care to touch his hat, and shutting his head into the carriage so that I might not overhear him, “he’s a respectable kind of gentleman enough, and connected with some of the first houses.”
“The gentleman’s name?”
“To be sure, Ma’am, the gentleman can’t help his name,” answered Humphrey, fully aware of the peculiar prejudices of his mistress; “but it be Huggins.”
“ONE MAY GO FARTHER AND FARE WORSE”—AS THE HORSE SAID
“Shut the door.”
It appeared, on explanation with the coachman, that he had mistaken me for a person in the employ of the opulent firm of Naylor and Co., whose province it was to travel throughout Britain with samples of hardware in the box-seat of his gig. I did not take the trouble to undeceive him, but determining to see the end of the affair, I affected to hope that the lady would change her mind; and accordingly I renewed, from time to time, my offer of accommodation, which was always stiffly declined. After a tolerably long pause on all sides, my expectation was excited by the appearance of the W—— coach coming through the Binn Gate, the only public vehicle that used the road. At sight of the dead horse, the driver (the noted Jem Wade) pulled up—alighted—and standing at the carriage-door with his hat off, as if he knew his customer, made an offer of his services. But Miss Norman, more dignified than ever, waved him off with her hand. Jem became more pressing, and the lady more rigid. “She never rode,” she condescended to say, “in public vehicles.” Jem entreated again; but “she was accustomed to be driven by her own coachman.” It was in vain that in answer he praised the quietness of his team, the safety of his patent boxes, besides promising the utmost steadiness and sobriety on his own part. Miss Norman still looked perseveringly at the back of her coach-box; which, on an unlucky assurance that “he would take as much care of her as of his own mother,” she exchanged for a steady gaze at the side-window, opposite to the coachman, so long as he remained in the presence.