“I’ll not bear your insults, sir!” exclaimed Sutton at length; “I’ll not tolerate your libellous insolence!—what do you mean, sir?—what do you mean?”
“Insults! I’ll leave it to this company if I have not succeeded admirably! it reflects you as a mirror!”
“I’ll not put up with it! I’ll not pay you a cent; I’ll leave it on your hands, and we’ll see who’ll have the best of the joke!”
“Do sir!” said the artist; “it will be then my property, and I can do what I please with it! I’ll put it up in some exhibition labelled with your name!”
“Your station protects you sir!” he resumed; “if you were not beneath my vengeance, you should answer for this, but a gentleman can, with honor, only demand satisfaction of his equals,—therefore you are safe! Landlord,” he added with an assumption of dignified composure; “make out my bill; I’ll go instantly to the other house;—you must be taught that a gentleman cannot patronize an establishment where he is liable to be insulted by any scrub that frequents it!” and again looking daggers at Miss Thompson, who had not ceased laughing, he left the room.
In truth, had it not been for the almost insupportable ridicule that accompanied it, Mr. Sutton would have rejoiced in the excuse to leave the house, from a discovery that he had just made. After dinner, while in quest of Miss Thompson, who was at that time in conversation with Oakley, he had strolled into the summer-house, and found a letter on the floor. It was without direction, and though closed, not sealed, and more through blindness than curiosity he opened it. To his dismay it commenced thus:
“My dear, dear Miss North—How can I give you any idea of the gratitude I feel for the last and greatest of your many kindnesses; you have made me so happy that I have not words to express myself, and not only me, but my dear mother, who says that you have done her more good than could have been effected by a whole college of physicians, for her health, at the prospect of a pleasant home, and freedom from incessant mental labour, begins already to come back again. We have given up our school, and are preparing to act upon the arrangements you have made for us. I have received a delightfully kind letter from your uncle,—he begs me to consider him as mine; in which he says he will come for us very soon, and requests me to enclose any communication for you to him. He speaks flatteringly of the satisfaction our company will give him while you are on your travels beyond the Atlantic. He little knows how impossible it will be to supply your place!” etc. etc.
Sutton read no more. It was signed L. Thompson, and that was sufficient. He unconsciously thrust the letter into his pocket, and hurried to the house. How was he to back out?—it now struck him that less importance could be attached to his actions by others than himself, and he grew nervous at the thought of how he had committed himself:—that he had paid the most unequivocal attentions to—a schoolmistress! The artist’s triumph indeed relieved him on that score, but a new sting was planted, and a more miserable dandy was, perhaps, not that day in existence, than Bromwell Sutton when he applied for lodgings at the G—— Hotel.
“Our work is finished at last!” said the painter, a few days after this happy riddance, bringing down the piece, which had afforded them so much enjoyment, for the inspection of Miss Thompson. She was gathering up some books from the parlor tables with a thoughtful and pensive countenance.
“Then I must take a ‘last lingering look’ at it,” returned she; “I may never see it nor its original again.”