Betty sighed also, and the corners
of her mouth fell--their eyes met--something like a blush crimsoned
Betty's sleek, shining cheek, when, on raising her eyes again, her master
was still staring at her. Betty simpered, and, in her very soft, very
demure voice ventured to say, "Was there any thing she could do?" Mr.
Vanderclump rose up from his chair. Betty, for the first time, felt
awed by his approach. "Batee!" he said, "my poor Batee! Hah! you are
a goot girl!" He chucked her under the chin with his large hand. Betty
looked meek, and blushed, and simpered again. There was a pause--Mr.
Vanderclump was the first to disturb it. "Hah! hah!" he exclaimed,
gruffly, as if suddenly recollecting himself; and, thrusting both hands
into his capacious breeches-pockets, he sat down to supper, and took no
further notice of Betty that night.
The next morning, the sun seemed to have made a successful struggle with
the dense London atmosphere, and shone full in Mr. Vanderclump's face
while he was at breakfast, and set a piping bullfinch singing a tune,
which his master loved rather for the sake of old associations, than
from any delight in music. Then Lloyd's List was full of arrivals,
and the Price Current had that morning some unusual charm about it,
which I cannot even guess at.
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