I never repented, however, that
I had sent my letter by Tom Brice. Escape from Bartram-Haugh was my hourly
longing.
That evening Madame invited herself to tea with me. I did not object.
It was better just then to be on friendly relations with everybody, if
possible, even on their own terms. She was in one of her boisterous and
hilarious moods, and there was a perfume of brandy.
She narrated some compliments paid her that morning in Feltram by that
'good crayature' Mrs. Litheways, the silk-mercer, and what ''ansom faylow'
was her new foreman--(she intended plainly that I should 'queez' her)--and
how 'he follow' her with his eyes wherever she went. I thought, perhaps, he
fancied she might pocket some of his lace or gloves. And all the time her
great wicked eyes were rolling and glancing according to her ideas of
fascination, and her bony face grinning and flaming with the 'strong drink'
in which she delighted. She sang twaddling chansons, and being, as was her
wont under such exhilarating influences, in a vapouring mood, she vowed
that I should have my carriage and horses immediately.
'I weel try what I can do weeth your Uncle Silas.
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