“They are yours, Margaret! I was only the versifier; you were the muse herself.”
“The muse herself is obliged to you. And now what is your errand? For it grows late, and you must be sensible—no, that you never will be—but you must be aware that this is very indecorous.”
“I am come to see you, dear Margaret—which I cannot without candles—to see you, and to tell you that it is impossible I can forget——”
“Bless me! what a memory you have. But you must take another opportunity for your tale; for——”
“Alas! I leave England immediately.[Pg 239]”
“A pleasant voyage to you! There, not a word more; I must run down to coffee.”
“Now may I never laugh more,” I said, “if I am baffled thus.” So I strolled back to the front of the house and proceeded to reconnoitre. A bay-window was half open, and in a small neat drawing-room I perceived a group assembled: an old lady, with a high muslin cap and red ribbons, was pouring out the coffee; her nephew, a tall awkward young gentleman, silting on one chair and resting his legs on another, was occupied in the study of Sir Charles Grandison; and my fair Margaret was leaning on a sofa, and laughing immoderately. “Indeed, miss,” said the matron, “you should learn to govern your mirth; people will think you came out of Bedlam.”
I lifted the window gently, and stepped into the room. “Bedlam, madam!” quoth I, “I bring intelligence from Bedlam; I arrived last week.”
The tall awkward young gentleman stared; and the aunt half said, half shrieked, “What in the name of wonder are you?”
“Mad, madam! very particularly mad! Mad as a hare in March or a Cheapside blood on Sunday morning. Look at me! do I not foam? Listen to me! do I not rave? Coffee, my dear madam, coffee; there is no animal so thirsty as your madman in the dog-days.”