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28 A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY
volumes, Becky was firmly convinced that her young mistress
would meet with a great lord some day or other, or be carried off,
like Cinderella, by a brilliant prince, to the mortification of her
elder sisters, whom Becky hated. And when, therefore, the new
lodger came, lonely, mysterious, melancholy, elegant, with the
romantic name of George Brandon—when he wrote a letter directed
to a lord, and Miss Caroline and Becky together examined the
superscription, such a look passed between them as the pencil of
Leslie or Maclise could alone describe for us. Becky's orbs were
lighted up with a preternatural look of wondering wisdom ; whereas,
after an instant, Caroline dropped hers, and blushed, and said,
" Nonsense, Becky !"
"Is it nonsense?" said Becky, grinning and snapping her
fingers with a triumphant air: "the cards comes true; I knew
they would. Didn't you have king and queen of hearts three
deals running? What did you dream about last Tuesday, tell
me that?"
But Miss Caroline never did tell, for her sisters came bouncing
down the stairs, and examined the lodger's letter. Caroline, however,
went away musing much upon these points; and she began
to think Mr. Brandon more wonderful and beautiful every day.
In the meantime, while Miss Caroline was innocently indulging
in her inclination for the brilliant occupier of the first floor, it
came to pass that the tenant of the second was inflamed by a most
romantic passion for her.
For, after partaking for about a fortnight of the family dinner,
and passing some evenings with Mrs. Gann and the young ladies,
Mr. Fitch, though by no means quick of comprehension, began
to perceive that the nightly charges that were brought against
poor Caroline could not be founded upon truth. "Let's see,"
mused he to himself. " Tuesday, the old lady said her daughter
was bringing her grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, because the
cook had not boiled the potatoes. Wednesday, she said Caroline
was an assassin, because she could not find her own thimble.
Thursday, she vows Caroline has no religion, because that old pair
of silk stockings were not darned. And this can't be," reasoned
Fitch deeply. "A gal hain't a murderess because her ma can't
find her thimble. A woman that goes to slap her grown-up
daughter on the back, and before company too, for such a paltry
thing as a hold pair of stockings, can't be surely a-speaking the
truth." And thus gradually his first impression against Caroline
wore away. As this disappeared, pity took possession of his soul
—and we know what pity is akin to ; and, at the same time, a
corresponding hatred for the oppressors of a creature so amiable.