The Mysteries of London; or, Lights and Shadows of London Life — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

er ee ee te ee —_ hardly known even to herself. The heart of the _ gempstress, unschooled in its own emotions, failed to make her comprehend the extent to which her happi- ness had become involved; and the strong ascendancy of that first love, created at first sight, was only felt and acknowledged when there was a chord struck that caused thuse secret sympathies to respond with a tremulous vibration. {| Such a response had been elicited by the casual encounter to which we have adverted. She felt that her affections were already concentrated in one, who, though she was never destined perhaps to behold him again, would always occupy the foremost place in her regard. From the slightest approach to an avowal of attachment from apy other, she shrank as a treason- able encroachment on the sovereign sway te which she had rendered up the first allegiance of her heart. Thus constant to the image that had been the ear- liest object of her adoration, it was with a timid and distrustful feeling of ayersion that she received ad- vances that might indicate the expectation of it being These mingled reflections were at last broken in upon by the solemn entrance of a tall figure, very stiff and stately, and which, in cold and contemptuor tones, condeseended to announce itself as being Miss Crump, the forewoman of Madame Duchard’s estab- lishment. This important personage had the same disagreeable angularity about her that characterised the apartment into which she had entered. As she marched slowly from the doorway into the centre of the parlour, her arms took the form of triangles against her long slender body, and the elbow on each side ended in a sharp, bony point. Her chin and nose were both de- cidedly angular, and her eyebrows had a strong ten- dency that way, whilst the little hair she had formed sharp corners to her face under a starched pointed cap with a peak of pink ribbon at the top of it. Her scissors, suspended by a piece of black tape, dangled at open angles below her waist, and in one eye, at least, with which she looked very pointedly at every thing and every body, there was a most unquestionable and objectionable obliquity. uch was the individual to whore strict manage- ment the minor arrangements of Madame Duchard’s establishment were confided, and who now, before uttering a word, subjected the personal appearance of Mary to a rigid scrutiny. This critical examination —which, owing to the visual failing mentioned, had all the appearance of being scornfully directed to the flickering lamp on the sideboard — was no sooner completed, than Miss Crump made a small model of a gothic arch with her mouth, and drawied out ;— “Oh, you are the young person, I believe, that had the skirts of the wedding-dress to make?” _ Mary admitted that she was justified in her ons. picion, which was the less extraordinary as a proof of Miss Crump’s penetrating sagacity, since Mary had received the material from the forewoman herself, and who had thus not acted from remarkable liberality, but solely in obedience to the orders of her superior, Asit was, she only quietly unpinned the parcel for her inspection, and with respectful submission awaited the opinion that the angular lady was pursing up her lips to pronounce upon it, It was astonishin mishing how faults Miss Crump contrived to discover in so a a compass, and with what ingenuity of criticism she managed to find fault _with the same thing in twenty different ways. Nota Soe ee ee we -—™ —s ee ee LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE, —_—— SS ee EN ee thread or stitch escaped her microseopic investigation, and every portion of the dress underwent the ordeal of being looked at and commented upon in every possible point of view. The result of this slashing critique, which, had the subject been an article of literature instead of an artiele of apparel, would have done credit to the most astute quarterly reviewer, was the discovery, at last, that every thing was entirely wrong, and that it was impossible to suppose that any body could find out any thing about it that was per- fectly right. She, in fact, never imagined that it could be otherwise, when out-workers were called in to the establishment, and she had always told Madame Duchard so, as that lady would acknowledge, if called upon, and who would now confess that this was a triumphant proof that what she had predicted was correct, if any person, indeed, had dared to think the reverse. She would, however, take it to Madame Du- chard herself, and see what she had to say about it, though she (Miss Crump) was quite sure it would never do, and that, indeed, it was quite spoiled; but she did not wish to appear too severe in her judgment, and that therefore she would heroically undertake to exhibit it to her, though the dreadful explosion of rage and vexation that would immediately follow, no one could be presamed to risk but herself, and even she wondered how her nerves would be able to stand such a shock. This, and a great deal more of a similar kind, needless to be here set down, was duly stated by Miss Crump. She spoke in a measured authoritative tone of voice, that delivered each sen- tence by instalments of a word at a time, and with as much deliberation as if every syllable had to be sharpened upon her teeth before it could be uttered with a sufficiently pointed effect. The harangue, however, terminated at last, with a disdainful toss of the spoiled garment over her arm, and giving what seemed to be a severe caution to the fashion-book, not fo move under any circumstances, but which was meant to be a stern command for the other te wait there till she returned, the chivalrous forewoman went up to the show-rooms to become @ martyr to her generosity and love of justice, Directly she was gone, Mary, quite unprepared for such @ reception as she had had, and feeling that so severe an attack was utterly undeserved, burst into tears. It was the only source from which her wounded spirit, chafed and troubled as it was, could derive relief, Crushed and dispirited by the trial she had under- gone, she hardly felt courage enough to again face her tormentor, and fearful only of her motives being misconstrued, she would at once have quitted the house and resigned all hope of remuneration for what she had performed, But in the very height of ber sorrow, and when, so intense was her anguish, she (elt that she could have wept on for hours in sheer vexa~- tion, a cheerful youthful face was thrust in hurriedly at the door, and in an instant, under the influence of that sunny countenance, her tears dried up, her sad- ness vanished, and her self-possession returned. “I beg your pardon,” the young girl, who now revealed herself, and who, with that unaffected polite- ness that wins upon the heart at once, proceeded to apologise for her intrusion, “ I thought our forewoman, Miss Crump, was here.” “She has just left, and I believe to see Madame Duchard,” said Mary—a pensive shade again over- spreading her coumtenance as she thought of the pur- pose for which she had gone. “Thank you, I am obliged to you,” said the fair intruder; adding, as she noticed the light half extin- er OO ee ore 107 | GoOmiichdoo (EO) m