Volume Two – Chapter Ten.
Mutterings
D. Wragg was out on business, down by the docks. He had left home directly after breakfast, telling his lodger, the little Frenchman, that he was “good to buy five hundred of zebras, or a hundred of grays, or a miskellaneous assortment of anything fresh brought over;” and he tapped his breast-pocket as he spoke, winking and jerking himself up and down.
“Dessay I could find a customer for a monkey, if I brought one home.”
A sharp glance was directed at Patty by Janet, as the dealer spoke; for Wragg’s absence being likely to last the whole day, while Canau’s engagements would occupy him for a considerable portion of it, Mrs Pellet had been persuaded to let Patty come and bear her friend company during the time when she would otherwise have been left alone in charge of D. Wragg’s stock-in-trade.
“Coming back,” said D. Wragg, “I shall see about the four-wheeler, so as we can go down comfortable. What time shall we start?”
He looked at Janet as he spoke, but she was thoughtful and silent; coming back though into the present, upon being again addressed.
“All right, then!” said D. Wragg; “to-morrow morning, directly arter breakfast, say half arter eight, and that will be nine; and you and Mother Winks will be sure and get a basket all ready.”
D. Wragg took his departure, after an affectionate glance all round at the birds and the rest of his stock-in-trade, while the little Frenchman stood lighting his cigarette with the match handed him by Janet.
“You will stay with Janet?” he said to Patty, as he turned to go.
“Yes; she has promised,” said Janet, quickly; “but you will be back in an hour to paint the birds?”
“Good! yes, in one hour;” and raising his hat, he replaced it, old and pinched of brim, very much on one side, and sauntered out.
The two girls, left now alone, stood silently in the shop for a few minutes, and then entered the back-room, where, in a quiet, pre-occupied manner, Janet commenced arranging cardboard, gum, and various packets of feathers, upon the table; an operation interrupted almost directly by a loud tapping upon the shop-counter.
Patty turned to answer the summons for her friend, but, on reaching the glass-door, she started back, looking pale and anxious.
“Oh, pray go!” she whispered to Janet, whose dark eyes were fixed maliciously upon her.
“So it is the gay cavalier, is it?” laughed Janet, in a harsh angry fashion.
“No, no!” whispered Patty, “but that dreadful man. He follows me, and always comes to the shop when he thinks I am here.”
“I’ll answer him,” said Janet, fiercely; and then in a whisper, “should you have turned back if it had been some one else?”
Patty’s sole reply was a look of reproach, one, though, that spoke volumes, as the deformed girl left the room to encounter the heavy, surly-voiced young man, who, upon being sharply asked what he wanted —
“Didn’t quite know. Perhaps it were a bird, or it might be a ferret; but he wasn’t quite sure. How-so-be, she wasn’t the one as was in the shop the other day. Where was the other one? Oh! she was busy, was she? Then p’raps he’d call again;” after which the heavy gentleman loitered slowly out of the shop, to hang about the window, glancing in at the birds and chewing straws.
“He’s gone!” said Janet, returning to the room. “He’s a hideous wretch, ugly as I am. Such impudence! He did not want to buy anything. But what a little coward you are!”
“Yes,” sighed Patty, “I am – I know I am. Ah! Janet,” she continued, after a short pause, “I wish I were a lady!”
“For the sake of the gay cavalier, of course,” laughed Janet, sneeringly, and then she looked angrily across at her companion, who bent her head, whispering to herself —
“She won’t believe me – she won’t believe me.”
Janet’s long fingers now grew very busy over her work, as she nimbly arranged the wing, tail, back, and breast feathers of a partridge, with gum, upon a stiff piece of card, following, with an accuracy learned of the birds amongst which she had so long dwelt, the soft curves and graceful swellings of the natural form, making up pair after pair of ornaments, destined, after being finished off by Canau, and prettily mounted, to be disposed of by D. Wragg at a profitable rate.
Punctual to his time, the little Frenchman returned, and, quite at home, sauntered into the room.
“Good girls! good girls!” he said, lightly. “Now the colours and the brush. Did the Madame Vinks bring the music she said she would borrow from the chef d’orchestre? No? Ah! then, but I am disappoint, and must wait. Janet, that bird is too big – round – plump – too much like the Madame Vinks; but we will paint his beak and leg. He does look fit for the chef– the cook – and not for the ornament.”
Then taking up cakes, first of one colour and then of another, he moistened a camel’s hair pencil in the gum, and, with the skill of a finished artist, gave the finishing touches, beaks, eyes, legs, to the young girl’s work.
In the midst of the operation, though, there was again the sound of a step in the shop.
Patty rose and left the room, for Janet’s fingers were busy with the feathers, and she determined this time not to let cowardice prevent her from doing her friend the little service. The deformed girl’s manner, however, evinced but little gratitude for the act, for she sat with bent head, but flashing eyes and distended nostrils, eagerly listening to catch the slightest word.
And eager whispered words those seemed to her to be, but replied to only in monosyllables, and at last, when she raised her head and gazed through the open door, she winced as if she had been struck, on seeing a be-ringed hand stretched across the counter, and tightly holding one of Patty’s little white palms.
Janet did not heed that the young girl seemed to be vainly trying to release that hand, as she stood right back against the cages at the side of the shop.
It was a bright hot summer day, with window and door open, so as to catch every wandering breeze that might lose itself in the vast maze of bricks and mortar; and as Janet had that one glance in at the shop, the door of communication banged loudly, and her view was cut off.
For a moment the girl’s face was contracted by pain; then a fierce malicious look swept over it as she rose to re-open the door.
“No, no – no, no, mon enfant; let the door rest,” said Monsieur Canau. “Wait till I have finished this one bird. Patty will be here directly.”
Janet shrunk back into her chair, craning her neck forward, though, as she tried in vain to make out the words that were spoken. Her teeth gnawed her lip, and her nails seemed to be pressed into her hands, while the twitching of her wide nostrils told of the agitation that moved her so strongly.
Twice she made as though to leap up, determined not to bear longer the restraint put upon her, but only to subside again into her eager listening attitude, as Monsieur Canau still painted on, humming softly an operatic air the while, as from time to time he stood to watch the progress of his work.
He was evidently totally ignorant of what was taking place in the shop, his occupation for the time being completely filling his mind, so that neither did he notice the agitation of Janet, which grew each moment more marked and decided in character.
At last the girl sprang sharply up, and walked towards the door, but only to be stayed by Canau.
“A moment, little one!” he said; “the Indian ink is not here. Reach it down for me from the closet.”
With trembling hands, Janet crossed to the cupboard, and strove to find the cake of paint; but it was beyond her reach, and she had to take a chair before she could find it and return to the table.
“Good! Now mix me a little upon that saucer; not too much.”
Janet obeyed without a word, and still Canau did not notice her agitation.
At last, though, she was free; and with eyes glittering, she made towards the door, just as she could hear now some hurried words, uttered in a low tone, as if some one were pleading importunately.
Then a few quick broken sentences followed, and one of the cages was slightly moved from its place.
Another moment, and Janet’s hand was upon the fastening of the door, and she had thrown it open in time to see Patty’s drawn farther and farther over the counter in spite of her resistance, and there it was held.
There were more words – hurried, eager words – a faint cry of remonstrance, and then Patty’s hand was snatched away with a violent effort, and she rushed, hot and excited, into the room.
“Aha! there, mind, my child,” said Canau; “but you will make the feathers fly. What is it? Has one of the little dogs got loose, and have you hunted him? Eh? Ah, ma foi! but you are hot and red-faced, and angry! Has any one dared – but what is this?”
Monsieur Canau uttered this last query in fierce tones, for, following rapidly upon the entrance of Patty, there was the dislodging a cage or two, the rattle of some chains, and a general fluttering amongst D. Wragg’s feathered possessions, as Lionel Redgrave, in full pursuit, forced his way into the little room.
Volume Two – Chapter Eleven.
Lionel’s Check
“There! I told you I would,” cried Lionel, who had hurried round the end of the counter, but not quickly enough to arrest the fleeing girl. “You know I met Wragg – ”
He stopped short upon finding himself face to face with Monsieur Canau, who, reading at a glance, from Patty’s flushed and troubled face, the meaning of her retreat, started angrily to his feet, saying —
“Monsieur is in error; he makes a mistake. This room is private, and he will instantly retire.”
Taken by surprise, and half abashed for the moment, Lionel shrank from the shabby little figure before him. For the Frenchman, sallow and seamed of countenance, appeared to brighten up, and his breast began to swell, as he stepped towards the intruder.
But Lionel’s discomfiture did not last a minute. Waiting until Canau was close up to him, he exclaimed —
“And pray, who the devil are you?”
“Who am I, sir?” exclaimed Canau, fiercely; “I, sir, am a gentleman, the protector of these ladies. In my country, sir – in La France – it is not money, but birth, and the habits of a gentleman, that serve to make the aristocrat. You are in error, sir; and you will directly leave this room.”
Lionel was perfectly astounded, and each moment he grew more confused, hardly knowing whether to be amused, or to think that he was in some other part of the world.
Was he dreaming? he asked himself, or was this really Decadia?
But his short reverie was made even shorter, as, quite in an agony, Janet clung to Canau’s hand, whispering imploringly, as she gazed in his face —
“Oh! for my sake, pray, don’t! Do not be angry.”
“Hush! hush! my little one,” said the Frenchman, softly, a most benignant aspect overspreading his poor worn countenance. “Be not afraid – it is nothing. You, sir,” he continued, calmly turning to Lionel, “you are young, and you make mistakes. In my country satisfaction would have been asked; but this is not La France, and I forget. But monsieur will leave at once.”
In spite of himself, angry even at what he chose to call his weakness, Lionel felt that he was overmatched by his little adversary. He knew that they were standing upon different bases, and that while the one occupied by the Frenchman was solid and substantial, his own was rotten and untrustworthy. Above all, too, it would keep striking him as being startling, that there, in that low, wretched street, which he told himself he had visited for the purpose of carrying on a vulgar amour, one should start up with all the grand courtesy of a gentleman of the old régime, to rebuke him, and to call him to account for his flagrant breach of etiquette.
He could do no other; and at last, stepping over the threshold, half annoyed, half puzzled, he suffered himself to be backed into the shop, and then to the door, Monsieur Canau putting on his hat as he progressed, but only to raise it with grim courtesy to the young man, who, frowning and humiliated, involuntarily raised his own, before walking fuming away.
“This young man, this foolish boy – do you encourage him to come here, Janet?” said Monsieur Canau, angrily, as he returned to the room to find both the young girls in tears.
Her answer was a shake of the head, while Patty came forward and placed both her little hands in his, as she thanked him for his conduct, and begged him not to speak angrily to Janet.
“It is well,” he said, nodding his head many times, “and I am not angry with Janet. But this must not be: he must be stopped: he must come here no more.”
He paused, for a loud sob from Janet took his attention, and turning, he found her with her face buried in her hands as she bent down, weeping bitterly.
“Poor child!” said Canau, tenderly, “she is soon alarmed. The scene has been too much; but we will go up to our own room and have some music. It will greatly soothe and calm this troubled spirit. But no – not so; we must wait for Wragg – we must not leave till he comes; and Patty, my child, you must no more be in the shop alone. It is not right for you. But enough – enough of this. I will stay with you now, and we will finish the birds.”
Turning to the painting, he sketched on as if nothing had happened, conversing lightly in French, till seeing once more that the tears would flow, he raised his brows slightly, shrugged his shoulders, rolled up and lit a cigarette, and strolled into the shop, muttering, as he left the girls to each other’s sympathy —
“But this must be stopped: he must come here no more.”
Very thoughtful was Monsieur Canau, as he stood there in the shop, his gaze lighting here and there upon bird, beast, or fish. But he saw them not, for his mind was filled with the recollection of the incident of that morning, and his seamed countenance grew more full of line and pucker as he sent the blue vapour from his cigarette, eddying out upon the air in furious puffs.
Then he walked to the door to look up and down the street, considering within himself the while what he should say to the dealer on his return; then he wondered whether it was the little man’s doing that Lionel Redgrave had gone there while Janet and her friend were in charge, and he frowned again and again as the thoughts came thick and fast. But at last, muttering to himself these words – “He must come here no more,” he was about to turn into the house, when he became aware of a low surly face close to him, apparently watching his every motion.
Volume Two – Chapter Twelve.
D. Wragg’s Day Out
If there is one thing more loved of your genuine Londoner than shell-fish, it is what he calls an “outing.”
We leave it to the statistician to decide upon the number of bushels of whelks boiled and consumed, after deposition in little white saucers, and peppering with dust; the loads of mussels, the great spongy-shelled oysters, and the barrows and baskets full of periwinkles stewed in Billingsgate or Columbia coppers, sold in ha’porths, and wriggled out with pins, and then luxuriated upon – while we turn to outing. Outing – whether it be by rail, boat, ’bus, van, or the various paintless, age-dried, loose-tired, nondescript vehicles forced into requisition for the purpose.
They are not particular, these Londoners, where or how they go – the very fact of there being the fresh air, green trees, and sunshine, that they miss at home, is sufficient; and all the dwellers upon suburban roads can attest to the air of tired satisfaction to be seen in the faces of many of those who come wearily back after that hardest of hard day’s work – an outing. Tired, but happy all the same, and bearing now flowers, perhaps only lilac or hawthorn; later on in the season, bunches of green or ripening corn – treasures to be placed in water, or suspended dry over glass or picture, to bring back for months to come the recollection of the bright day spent in the country lanes.
The four-wheeler of which D. Wragg had spoken was at the door at the time appointed, ready to take the whole party, including Patty, who had been persuaded by Janet to obtain permission to accompany them, not without some reluctance on her own part; for after yesterday’s scene she felt that she would have preferred the quiet protection of her own home. It was a very shabby, sun-blistered green vehicle, whose appearance suggested a thorough knowledge of every road out of London – the kind of carriage that, give it motive-power, would be sure to find its own way home, in spite even of an obstinate horse. It looked as if accustomed to stop almost of its own accord at road-side public-houses, for its drawer and occupants to drink, while it rested its creaking springs and jangling iron, fetching its breath for another dusty run, as it longed for one of those wayside horseponds through which it might be driven to the easement of its thirsty joints and badly-fitted wheels, almost now disposed to moult the spokes which rattled musically in their freedom from paint.
The four-wheeler was drawn by a curved-nosed beast of an angular nature, whose character was written in his sleepy eye and bended knees, worn by contact with hard or dusty roads. His vertebrae stood up like a minor chain of Andes, extending from his mangy neck to the tableland dominating the cataract-like tail of scrubby hair. To complete his description, he was a horse of a most retiring aspect, whose presence caused dogs to sniff, and cats to run a red rag-like tongue over their white teeth and skinny lips, as they thought of the barrow, and the three small slices upon a skewer.
Mrs Winks was in a state of moist and shiny excitement. She had already placed a fair-sized flat basket beneath the seat, and quite destroyed the appearance of her print apron, by rolling it up and folding it into fidget-suggested plaits.
But it was with no envious eyes that Mrs Winks gazed; for London, she said, was quite big enough for her, and contained all she wanted. Them as liked might go into the country for her, which she was quite sure could show no such flowers, fruits, or vegetables as Common Garding. She liked to see others enjoy themselves, though, and her face beamed with good-humour as she held a chair for Janet to stand upon and climb to her seat, when Canau led her out with as great care and courtesy as if she had been a duchess of the French court.
Patty, although the visitor, had insisted upon giving up to Janet the place of honour beside D. Wragg, who was already seated, and was making the angular horse toss its head in response to the unnecessarily jerked reins.
Then came Patty’s turn to be helped into the back-seat – a bright little blossom with petals of white muslin – and Canau took his place by her side, both he and D. Wragg being perfectly stiff in the board-like white waistcoats, got up for them expressly by Mrs Winks.
That lady received divers admonitions respecting the administration of more water to the stock-in-trade; and a stern order “not to make no mistake; but if that party came about the little spannle, it warn’t the same, and he’d best call again.”
“Hooray! give’s a copper, guv’nor,” shouted a small boy, as D. Wragg now energetically jerked the reins, and cried, “P’st!” and “Go on then!” for the horse would not move, evidently considering that D. Wragg had cried “Wolf,” in his previous jerkings of the reins; but at last the brute ambled off slowly, only, though, to be checked at the end of half-a-dozen yards, for his driver to shout to Mrs Winks —
“Here, I say! them there sparrers, I won’t let ’em go at the price Pogles offered. Don’t you make no mistake: I don’t get my sparrers for nothing – p’st!”
They went on a few yards farther, but only for D. Wragg to recall something else – which made him pull up short and wave Mrs Winks forward with the whip.
“I didn’t give them there bantams their mixter this mornin’, and their combs is white as lather. Give ’em a few drops in their water.”
“Now, do go on, there’s a good soul!” cried Mrs Winks, impatiently; “just as if I couldn’t mind the place as well as you!”
“I don’t think as there’s anything else I want to say,” said D. Wragg, rubbing his nose – what there was of it – with the shaft of the whip.
“No, I shouldn’t think there was,” said Mrs Winks, pettishly; “so now go on.”
Mrs Winks turned to re-enter the shop, but she was calculating too much, for D. Wragg did not set her at liberty until he had called and recalled her to the very end of the street, to warn her about the rats – about that there pair of fancy rabbits – and lastly, to tell her to be sure and not forget about the spannle.
“Now, don’t you make no mistake about that there dorg, for that there’s the particularist part of it all.”
“There! drat the man! what does he mean dragging me away like this?” puffed the dame, fiercely; and, heedless of a shouted order sent flying after her as the four-wheeler turned the corner, she made her way back to the shop, while D. Wragg urged on his horse, working hard at his driving, so as to reach the country for a day of pleasure.
The pleasure was in anticipation, but there was a shade on the brow of both girls, as they seemed to feel the coming of what was to be to one a stroke that should make a tender heart to ache with bitter misery – to bring forth confession upon confession, and to waken both to the fact that there are dreams of the day as well as dreams of the night – dreams of our waking moments as well as dreams when the body is steeped in sleep.
But now, they were still in Decadia, with D. Wragg – no very skilful driver – urging on his horse as he applied the whip and jerked the reins, telling it “not to make no mistake, for he was behind it.”
“Come on, will you?” cried D. Wragg, to increase the speed. Result: the angular horse wagged its tail.
On he went, however, stumbling slowly along, bowing his head in sympathy with a halting leg; and they proceeded through the least frequented streets, D. Wragg being influenced in his choice of them by his want of confidence in himself as a driver.
On still, past the parts where the shops began to look new, but blighted as to trade; where the houses were more thinly scattered, until they had attained to their object of being in the country, when the horse was allowed to take its own pace.
It was not a pleasant pace; for there was, when he went slowly, too much turning of the head, and dragging along of one of the hind legs; while, when apparently startled to find that he was doing but little more than keeping up with the pedestrians on either side of the road, he started off for a hundred yards in a sharper trot, it was made unmusical by the clink, clink of shoe against shoe as the poor brute overstepped itself.
But in spite of these failings, the party in the four-wheeler seemed perfectly content, for they were progressing; suburban residences, with their pleasant green parterres and shrubberies, were gliding by them on either hand, so that there was always something new to notice; and besides, were they not leaving behind the misery, the dirt, and squalor of the Great City?
Learned in such matters, from his connection with the bird fancying and catching professions, D. Wragg had made up his mind to the most countrified spot he knew within easy range of London, the result being, that at mid-day the party were dining al fresco in the pleasantly wooded region beyond Woodford Bridge; and then in the afternoon, Patty and Janet were wandering hand-in-hand – children once more in thought – along by sweet hedgerow and waving corn.
Now they would rest for a while upon some stile to listen to the familiar note of a bird, which seemed more joyous here, though, in a state of freedom; now pausing to mark the busy hum of insect life; then wandering on again, speaking little, but revelling in the sweetness of the country – doubly dear to these prisoners of the great city.
It was their way of enjoying such trips as this; D. Wragg, for his part, taking solitary rambles for the purpose of combining profit with pleasure – clearing his “ex’s” he called it – by hunting out suitable spots for his bird-catching clients, by the side of shady grove, or upon some pleasant common, where feathered prey might be inveigled and melted down into silver,
Canau, on his part, would take his thoughtful walks about, with his little screwed-up cigarette; it being an understood thing that at a certain hour they were all to meet at the little inn where the horse was resting, partake of an early tea, and then face homeward.
Pleasant fields, with here and there a farmhouse or villa, with its closely-shaven lawn and trimly-kept garden full of floral beauties, but presenting no greater attraction to the two wanderers than did hedge and bank rich with darkening leaf, berry, and flower; and on they strolled, both very quiet and thoughtful, forgetting D. Wragg, Canau, and Babel itself, in the enjoyment of the present.
Passing slowly along – picking a harebell or scabious here, a cluster of sweet honeysuckle, or the bugloss there – Patty and Janet wandered over the road-side grass, their steps inaudible, till they reached a high hedge and evergreen plantation, which separated them from the grounds of a pleasant residence, upon whose lawn a party was assembled, apparently engaged in some out-door pastime. They were so close that the voices were easily distinguishable: the light happy laugh of maidenhood mingling with the deeper tones of male companions. Now and then, too, through the trees the light floating drapery of more than one fair girl could be made out, as it swept over the soft lawn.
At first little notice was taken by Patty and Janet; but suddenly, upon hearing a remark to which a merry laughing response was given, the former stopped short, to crimson and then turn pale, as she dropped the flowers which she had gathered.
She stood perfectly motionless, as a laughing, girlish voice, exclaimed —
“No, no; it’s Mr Clayton’s turn now – he’s my partner!”
“Clayton – Harry Clayton; why don’t you come?” exclaimed a man’s voice; “why, I declare, if he isn’t proposing to Miss Rawlinson!”
Patty was pressing forward, parting the leaves with one hand, heedless of the thorns which pricked and tore her soft fingers, before she was able to obtain a passing glance of dark, study-paled Harry Clayton, rising with a smile from the feet of a young lady seated upon a garden-chair – a maiden who, at that distance, seemed to Patty to be very beautiful in her light muslin dress, and framed as it were in the soft verdure around.
Then the listeners’ ears were saluted by a merry burst of laughter, drowning the expostulating tones of a man’s voice; while, with bleeding hands, ay! and bleeding heart, head bent, and the tears running from her great grey eyes, Patty turned and almost staggered away, closely followed by Janet; who, taking her arm, hurried her along, till, crossing a stile, they sat down beside the softly undulating corn.
The stillness was complete around, only broken by the cawing of a colony of rooks amongst some distant elms.
“Oh Patty, Patty, darling!” whispered Janet, taking the bended head to her breast, when, giving way to the desolation of her young heart in the fresh trouble that seemed to have come over her so suddenly, Patty wept long and bitterly, awakened as she was so rudely from a dream in which she had allowed herself to indulge.
“Oh Patty, Patty!” softly whispered Janet again, as, down upon her knees, she rocked the little head that rested against her to and fro – hushing her friend as if she had been a child, murmuring, too, as she bent over her – “And I thought so differently – so differently!”
“Let us go – let us go away from here,” sobbed Patty, after vainly struggling to repress her feelings.
“Not yet – not yet,” said Janet, as she played with the hair which fell upon her breast. “There is no one to see us here, and you are not yet fit for people to look at you. You must not think me cruel if I say I am glad to see you suffer – glad your poor breast can be torn and troubled; for I thought so differently, little one, and that it was the gay handsome boy who had stolen the little heart away; for I knew – I knew – I’ve known that there was something wrong for weeks and weeks; and I’ve been angry and bitter, and hated you; for, Patty, Patty,” she cried, passionately, hiding now her own swarthy face, “I feel that if he would but take me, to beat me, or to be as his dog that he fondles so – to wait upon him – to be his slave – I could be happy. You don’t know – you cannot tell – the misery, the wretchedness of such a heart as mine. Do you think I am blind? Do I not know that he would laugh and jeer at me? Would he not think me mad for looking up at him?” she cried passionately, as she struck her face – her bosom – cruelly with her long, bony fingers. “Do you think I don’t know what a toad I am – how ugly and foul I must be in the eyes of men? And yet I have a woman’s heart; and though I’ve tried not to worship his bold insolent face, I could almost have died again and again for one – only one – of those sweet words he has flung at you so often, when I have thought you were trying to lead him on. If I could but have had one word, to have lived on it for a few moments; even to have known directly after that it was false and delusive! Patty, Patty, darling! you must forgive me, because I have hated you for all this, and without reason. I have been madly jealous, and I believe that I am mad now. Oh! hold me! hold me! and help me to tear out this cruel love that is breaking my heart – killing me – but you cannot understand – even you cannot tell what it is to live without hope.”
“Oh Janet!” sobbed Patty, reproachfully.
“I know, I know,” cried Janet, passionately; “you love him and he is another’s. But you are pretty; your face is fair, and bright, and sweet; and you will soon forget all this, and love again. But look at me – at this face – at this shape! Oh! why did I not die when I was little? instead of living to become such a burden even to myself? They say that the crippled and deformed are vain, and blind to all their failings; but do you think that I am? Oh! no; I could loathe and trample upon myself for being what I am; while he is so brave, and straight, and handsome.”