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PAGE 22

Angelina; Or, L’amie Inconnue
by [?]

“I’ll tell you all, my Araminta,” whispered Miss Warwick, “when we are by ourselves.”

“Oh, never mind Nat,” whispered Miss Hodges.

“Couldn’t you tell him,” rejoined Miss Warwick, “that he need not wait any longer?”

Wait, my dear! why, what do you take him for?”

“Why, is not he your footman?” whispered Angelina.

“My footman!–Nat!” exclaimed Miss Hodges, bursting out a laughing, “my Angelina took you for my footman.”

“Good heavens! what is he?” said Angelina, in a low voice.

“Verily,” said Nat Gazabo, with a sort of bashful simple laugh, “verily, I am the humblest of her servants.”

“And does my Angelina–spare my delicacy,” said Miss Hodges–“does my Angelina not remember, in any of my long letters, the name of–Orlando!–There he stands.”

“Orlando!–Is this gentleman your Orlando, of whom I have heard so much?”

“He! he! he!” simpered Nat. “I am Orlando, of whom you have heard so much; and she–(pointing to Miss Hodges)–she is, to-morrow morning, God willing, to be Mistress Hodges Gazabo.”

“Mrs. Hodges Gazabo, my Araminta!” said Angelina, with astonishment, which she could not suppress.

“Yes, my Angelina: so end ‘The Sorrows of Araminta’–Another cup?–do I make the tea too sweet?” said Miss Hodges, whilst Nat handed the bread and butter to the ladies officiously.

“The man looks like a fool,” thought Miss Warwick.

“Set down the bread and butter, and be quiet, Nat–Then, as soon as the wedding is over, we fly, my Angelina, to our charming cottage in Wales:–there may we bid defiance to the storms of fate–

“‘The world forgetting, by the world forgot.'”

“That,” said Angelina, “‘is the blameless vestal’s lot:’–but you forget that you are to be married, my Araminta; and you forget that, in your letter of three folio sheets, you said not one word to me of this intended marriage.”

“Nay, my dear, blame me not for a want of confidence, that my heart disclaims,” said Miss Hodges: “from the context of my letters, you must have suspected the progress my Orlando had made in my affections; but, indeed, I should not have brought myself to decide apparently so precipitately, had it not been for the opposition, the persecution of my friends–I was determined to show them that I know, and can assert, my right to think and act, upon all occasions, for myself.”

Longer, much longer, Miss Hodges, spoke in the most peremptory voice; but whilst she was declaiming on her favourite topic, her Angelina was “revolving in her altered mind” the strange things which she had seen and heard in the course of the last half-hour; every thing appeared to her in a new light; when she compared the conversation and conduct of Miss Hodges with the sentimental letters of her Araminta; when she compared Orlando in description to Orlando in reality, she could scarcely believe her senses: accustomed as she had been to elegance of manners, the vulgarity and awkwardness of Miss Hodges shocked and disgusted her beyond measure. The disorder, and–for the words must be said–slatternly dirty appearance of her Araminta’s dress, and of every thing in her apartment, were such as would have made a hell of heaven; and the idea of spending her life in a cottage with Mrs. Hodges Gazabo and Nat overwhelmed our heroine with the double fear of wretchedness and ridicule.

“Another cup of tea, my Angelina?” said Miss Hodges, when she had finished her tirade against her persecutors, that is to say, her friends, “another cup, my Angelina?–do, after your journey and fatigue, take another cup.”

“No more, I thank you.”

“Then reach me that tragedy, Nat–you know–“

“Your own tragedy, is it, my dear?” said he.

“Ah, Nat, now! you never can keep a secret,” said Miss Hodges. “I wanted to have surprised my Angelina.”

“I am surprised!” thought Angelina–“oh, how much surprised!”

“I have a motto for our cottage here somewhere,” said Miss Hodges, turning over the leaves of her tragedy–“but I’ll keep that till to-morrow–since to-morrow’s the day sacred to love and friendship.”

Nat, by way of showing his joy in a becoming manner, rubbed his hands, and hummed a tune. His mistress frowned, and bit her lips; but the signals were lost upon him, and he sung out, in an exulting tone–