"Oh, you won't tell, won't you?" returned the lady, cocking her hat, and leaving the mountain of baggage to the care of her friend Sergeant Henicky. "I tell you, sir, I insist on knowing; and if you don't confess this moment, I shall perhaps find means to make you."
"Me, ma'am? How is it possible for me to confess, when I tell you I know nothing about her? I travelled with her from London in the coach—am very likely to get shot by a young soldier on her account—brought her here at a rate that has taken away all my breath—and know no more about her than you do."
"A likely story!—but it won't do for me, sir; no, sir—I see you are an attorney—ready to prosecute some of my poor young men for breach of promise; but we stand no nonsense of that kind in the gallant Sucking Pidgeons. So, trot off, old man, and take your decoy-duck with you, or I think its extremely likely you'll be tost in a blanket. Do you hear?—go for your broken-hearted Desdemona, and double-quick out of the yard. I'll teach a set of lawyers to come playing the Jew to my young men. They shall jilt every girl in England if they think proper, and serve them right too—and no pitiful green-bag rascal shall trouble them about such trifles—right about face—march"—
"Madam," said Mr Clam, in the extremity of amazement and fear, "did you ever happen to read 'Woman's Dignity, developed in Dialogues?' It's written by my friend, Mrs Moss, No. 5, Waterloo Place, Wellington Road, Regent's Park—in fact, she's my next door neighbour—a clever woman, but corpulent, very corpulent—you never met with 'Woman's Dignity, developed in Dialogues?'"
"Woman's idiocy, enveloped in petticoats! Who the devil cares about woman, or her dignity either? I never could bear the contemptible wretches. No—give me a man—a good, stout-hearted, front-rank man—there's some dignity there—with the eye glaring, nostril widening, bayonet fixed, and double-quick the word, against the enemies' line. But woman's dignity!—let her sit and sew—work squares for ottomans, or borders for chair-bottoms—psha!—beat a retreat, old man, or you'll be under the pump in two minutes. I'll teach you to talk nonsense about your women—I will—as sure as my name is Jane Sword and I command the Sucking Pigeons!"
"Pigeons don't suck, ma'am. Mrs M. lent me book of nat'ral history"—
"You'll find they'll bite, tho'—Henicky, take a corporal's guard, and"—
"Oh no, for heaven's sake, ma'am!" exclaimed Mr Clam. "Your servant, ma'am. I'm off this moment."
The unhappy victim of Mrs Moss's advice to travel for the improvement of his mind, thought it best to follow the orders of the military lady in the riding-habit, and retired as quickly as he could from the barrack yard. But, on arriving at the outer archway, shame, or curiosity, or some other feeling, made him pause. "Am I to go away," he thought, "after all, without finding out who the lady is or what business brought her here—what she knows about Chatterton—and what she wants with Hope? There's a mystery in it all. Mrs M. would never forgive me if I didn't find it out. I'll wait for the pretty critter—for she is a pretty critter, in spite of her not telling me her story—I think I never saw such eyes in my life. Yes—I'll wait." Mr Clam accordingly stopped short, and looked sharply all round, to watch if his fair companion was coming. She was still detained in the colonel's room.
"Will you pardon me for addressing a stranger, sir?" said a gentleman, politely bowing to Mr Clam.