These her man-servant was arranging, under her direction, while she
was good-humoredly trying to pacify her maid, who, with tears in her
eyes, was protesting that she could not sleep another night in that
coal-hole, into which the people of the house had thrust her, and
which they would persist in calling a chamber.
Mrs. Shortridge, a plump and pretty woman of eight-and-twenty, was a
good deal fluttered at seeing such a visitor at such a time. She
declared "that she did not know whether she was more delighted or
ashamed to see Major--I beg your pardon--Colonel L'Isle, in such a
place; we, who have been accustomed to a suite of genteel apartments
wherever we went."
L'Isle cast his eye around the forlorn and dismal walls. "Let me beg
you, Colonel L'Isle, to be conveniently near-sighted during your
visit. I would not, for the world, have our present domicil, and our
household arrangements, minutely inspected by your critical eye."
Without minding her protest, he completed a deliberate survey; then
said, suddenly, "Why, Shortridge, how could you think of shutting up a
lady in such a dungeon? If Mrs. Shortridge were not the best-tempered
woman in the world, it would cause a domestic rebellion, and we would
soon see her posting back to Lisbon, and London, perhaps, without
leave or license.
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