The milliner rushed past the don, so to speak, smothered in boxes.
At the door she was met by another waiting-woman, dashing off to the carriage with a cloak, a bouquet, and a scent-bottle. All these paraphernalia were handed to a footman, and then back the woman came, and crashed up against the fourth body menial—“me lady’s fan! me lady’s gloves! me lady’s veil!”
The second footman without the door fell upon, and bore away these things.
“Me lady’s carriage!”
“Storms and——” something else said Don Pasquale, and with an effort fell upon the pile of bills. “To dressmaker, 100 dollars—oh! dear me! To coach-maker, six hundred—worse and worse. Twice as much to the jeweller. To horses—horses! I wish they’d carry all to——,” again the don used a highly improper atom of speech.
Then the don in an awful whisper said, “Here she is!”
In she came, like several ladies of state, and dressed as surely never pupil at a convent had ever been dressed before. She did not see him as she passed on, not she; but he stopped her—rather hoped he would excuse her, and faintly desired to know whither she was going.
She loudly desired to be informed what that was to him—she was going out!
Again he faintly and in a slightly sarcastical tone observed that a husband might take the liberty of objecting.
“A husband might take the liberty, and it certainly was a liberty; and indeed, a husband might even object, but that was no reason why the wife should obey. It was the duty of such a man to see, and hold his tongue; indeed, common sense would tell him to hold his tongue; for, she would ask him, was he listened to when he did speak?”