“Oh, do let her have her Things!” pleaded Mrs. Wragge. “Oh, poor soul, do let her have her Things!”
The captain’s inexorable forefinger pointed to a corner of the room—dropped slowly as his wife retired before it—and suddenly stopped at the region of her shoes.
“Do I hear a clapping on the floor!” exclaimed Captain Wragge, with an expression of horror. “Yes; I do. Down at heel again! The left shoe this time. Pull it up, Mrs. Wragge! pull it up!—The chaise will be here to-morrow morning at nine o’clock,” he continued, addressing Magdalen. “We can’t possibly venture on claiming your box. There is note-paper. Write down a list of the necessaries you want. I will take it myself to the shop, pay the bill for you, and bring back the parcel. We must sacrifice the box—we must, indeed.”
While her husband was addressing Magdalen, Mrs. Wragge had stolen out again from her corner, and had ventured near enough to the captain to hear the words “shop” and “parcel.” She clapped her great hands together in ungovernable excitement, and lost all control over herself immediately.
“Oh, if it’s shopping, let me do it!” cried Mrs. Wragge. “She’s going out to buy her Things! Oh, let me go with her—please let me go with her!”
“Sit down!” shouted the captain. “Straight! more to the right—more still. Stop where you are!”
Mrs. Wragge crossed her helpless hands on her lap, and melted meekly into tears.
“I do so like shopping,” pleaded the poor creature; “and I get so little of it now!”
Magdalen completed her list; and Captain Wragge at once left the room with it. “Don’t let my wife bore you,” he said, pleasantly, as he went out. “Cut her short, poor soul—cut her short!”
“Don’t cry,” said Magdalen, trying to comfort Mrs. Wragge by patting her on the shoulder. “When the parcel comes back you shall open it.”