court. The effects of which movement it is impossible to calculate. I shouldn’t wonder if it might have already given rise to the painfullest mistakes even in the neighbours’ minds, not mentioning (if such a thing was possible) my little woman. Whereas, goodness knows,” says Mr. Snagsby, shaking his head, “I never had an idea of a foreign female, except as being formerly connected with a bunch of brooms and a baby, or at the present time with a tambourine and earrings. I never had, I do assure you, sir!”
Mr. Tulkinghorn had listened gravely to this complaint and inquires when the stationer has finished, “And that’s all, is it, Snagsby?”
“Why yes, sir, that’s all,” says Mr. Snagsby, ending with a cough that plainly adds, “and it’s enough too—for me.”
“I don’t know what Mademoiselle Hortense may want or mean, unless she is mad,” says the lawyer.
“Even if she was, you know, sir,” Mr. Snagsby pleads, “it wouldn’t be a consolation to have some weapon or another in the form of a foreign dagger planted in the family.”
“No,” says the other. “Well, well! This shall be stopped. I am sorry you have been inconvenienced. If she comes again, send her here.”
Mr. Snagsby, with much bowing and short apologetic coughing, takes his leave, lightened in heart. Mr. Tulkinghorn goes upstairs, saying to himself, “These women were created to give trouble the whole earth over. The mistress not being enough to deal with, here’s the maid now! But I will be short with this jade at least!”
So saying, he unlocks his door, gropes his way into his murky rooms, lights his candles, and looks about him. It is too dark to see much of the Allegory overhead there, but that importunate Roman, who is for ever