FullReads

MISS P.–You are very fortunate in finding anything to interest you in the paper, I’m sure.

JOHN.–Perhaps, Miss, you are not accustomed to political discussion, and ignorant of–ah–I beg your pardon: a servant, I know, has no right to speak. [Exit into dining-room, making a low bow.]

MISS PRIOR.–The coolness of some people is really quite extraordinary! the airs they give themselves, the way in which they answer one, the books they read! Montesquieu: “Esprit des Lois!” [takes book up which J. has left on sofa.] I believe the man has actually taken this from the shelf. I am sure Mr. Milliken, or her ladyship, never would. The other day “Helvetius” was found in Mr. Howell’s pantry, forsooth! It is wonderful how he picked up French whilst we were abroad. “Esprit des Lois!” what is it? it must be dreadfully stupid. And as for reading “Helvetius” (who, I suppose, was a Roman general), I really can’t understand how–Dear, dear! what airs these persons give themselves! What will come next? A footman–I beg Mr. Howell’s pardon–a butler and confidential valet lolls on the drawing-room sofa, and reads Montesquieu! Impudence! And add to this, he follows me for the last two or three months with eyes that are quite horrid. What can the creature mean? But I forgot–I am only a governess. A governess is not a lady–a governess is but a servant–a governess is to work and walk all day with the children, dine in the school-room, and come to the drawing-room to play the man of the house to sleep. A governess is a domestic, only her place is not the servants’ hall, and she is paid not quite so well as the butler who serves her her glass of wine. Odious! George! Arabella! there are those little wretches quarrelling again! [Exit. Children are heard calling out, and seen quarrelling in garden.]

JOHN [re-entering].–See where she moves! grace is in all her steps. ‘Eaven in her high–no–a-heaven in her heye, in every gesture dignity and love–ah, I wish I could say it! I wish you may procure it, poor fool! She passes by me–she tr-r-amples on me. Here’s the chair she sets in [kisses it.] Here’s the piano she plays on. Pretty keys, them fingers out-hivories you! When she plays on it, I stand and listen at the drawing-room door, and my heart thr-obs in time! Fool, fool, fool! why did you look on her, John Howell! why did you beat for her, busy heart! You were tranquil till you knew her! I thought I could have been a-happy with Mary till then. That girl’s affection soothed me. Her conversation didn’t amuse me much, her ideers ain’t exactly elevated, but they are just and proper. Her attentions pleased me. She ever kep’ the best cup of tea for me. She crisped my buttered toast, or mixed my quiet tumbler for me, as I sat of hevenings and read my newspaper in the kitching. She respected the sanctaty of my pantry. When I was a-studying there, she never interrupted me. She darned my stockings for me, she starched and folded my chokers, and she sowed on the habsent buttons of which time and chance had bereft my linning. She has a good heart, Mary has. I know she’d get up and black the boots for me of the coldest winter mornings. She did when we was in humbler life, she did.

Enter MARY.

You have a good heart, Mary!

MARY.–Have I, dear John? [sadly.]

JOHN.–Yes, child–yes. I think a better never beat in woman’s bosom. You’re good to everybody–good to your parents whom you send half your wages to: good to your employers whom you never robbed of a halfpenny.

MARY [whimpering].–Yes, I did, John. I took the jelly when you were in bed with the influenza; and brought you the pork-wine negus.

JOHN.–Port, not pork, child. Pork is the hanimal which Jews ab’or. Port is from Oporto in Portugal.