The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 398: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MRS. BRACE AND HER VISITORS 363 surveying his ruffian-like attire with a deliberate coolness which left room to believe that he had still some doubts upon the subject. ‘ But really you’re not treating me well, my dear; for after so long a separation —it must be a matter of fifteen or sixteen years — ”’ “Oh, pray — pray leave me now —I beseech —I im- plore you!” exclaimed the milliner, her voice absolutely expressing a rending agony; and she joined her white hands appealingly as she thus spoke. “ By jingo! this amounts to a positive insult!’ growled the Magsman, not offering to budge from his chair. “ You ought to be precious glad to see me again; but instead of that, you want to get rid of me for the sake of some trumpery folks who’re coming to swill tea and coffee and devour muffins. Well, I sha’n’t force my company upon you much longer, as I see it’s disagreeable. So, if you’ll give me a drop of brandy, or anything short that you can lay your hand on at the moment, I’ll take myself off.’ The reader can imagine the horrified feelings which had raged within the bosom of the elegant milliner from the first moment of the ruffian’s entrance, — the bare thought that all his detestable vulgarity and loathsome familiarity were exhibited in the hearing of the most polished gentle- man in Europe being quite sufficient to overwhelm and erush her. But, in addition to this, she entertained the appalling dread that he would give utterance to something which might reveal to the ears of the prince a secret she would sooner die than have betrayed. It was therefore with an indescribable sensation of relief that she heard him intimate his readiness to depart; and, springing from her chair with the lightness of a hoyden nymph, she took from a cupboard a silver liqueur-stand, containing crystal decanters filled with spirits and cordials and surrounded by beautifully cut glasses. ‘You haven’t got a tumbler handy, have you? ”’ inquired the Magsman, likewise rising from his seat, “ for I’m not accustomed to drink thimblefuls at a time.”’ The milliner produced a large hock-glass, which the fellow filled to the brim with brandy; and, raising it to his lips, he said, with a leering look at the lady, ‘‘ Your health, or rayther, my love to you, Fanny, and may you be in a better humour when I favour you with a call next time.” (C(O) i 0) Oy 0) (C©)