“Me, Peg, me,” said Arthur Gride, tapping himself on the breast to render the reply more intelligible.
“You, eh?” returned Peg. “And what do you want?”
“I’ll be married in the bottle-green,” cried Arthur Gride.
“It’s a deal too good to be married in, master,” rejoined Peg, after a short inspection of the suit. “Haven’t you got anything worse than this?”
“Nothing that’ll do,” replied old Arthur.
“Why not do?” retorted Peg. “Why don’t you wear your everyday clothes, like a man—eh?”
“They an’t becoming enough, Peg,” returned her master.
“Not what enough?” said Peg.
“Becoming.”
“Becoming what?” said Peg, sharply. “Not becoming too old to wear?”
Arthur Gride muttered an imprecation on his housekeeper’s deafness, as he roared in her ear:
“Not smart enough! I want to look as well as I can.”
“Look?” cried Peg. “If she’s as handsome as you say she is, she won’t look much at you, master, take your oath of that; and as to how you look yourself—pepper-and-salt, bottle-green, sky-blue, or tartan-plaid will make no difference in you.”
With which consolatory assurance, Peg Sliderskew gathered up the chosen suit, and folding her skinny arms upon the bundle, stood, mouthing, and grinning, and blinking her watery eyes, like an uncouth figure in some monstrous piece of carving.
“You’re in a funny humour, an’t you, Peg?” said Arthur, with not the best possible grace.
“Why, isn’t it enough to make me?” rejoined the old woman. “I shall, soon enough, be put out, though, if anybody tries to domineer it over me: and so I give you notice, master. Nobody shall be put over Peg Sliderskew’s head, after so many years; you know that, and so I needn’t tell you! That won’t do for me—no, no, nor for you. Try that once, and come to ruin—ruin—ruin!”
“Oh dear, dear, I shall never try it,” said Arthur Gride, appalled by the mention of the word, “not for the world. It would be very easy to ruin me; we must be very careful; more saving than ever, with another mouth to feed. Only we—we mustn’t let her lose her good looks, Peg, because I like to see ’em.”
“Take care you don’t find good looks come expensive,” returned Peg, shaking her forefinger.
“But she can earn money herself, Peg,” said Arthur Gride, eagerly watching what effect his communication produced upon the old woman’s countenance: “she can draw, paint, work all manner of pretty things for ornamenting stools and chairs: slippers, Peg, watch-guards, hair-chains, and a thousand little dainty trifles that I couldn’t give you half the names of. Then she can play the piano, (and, what’s more, she’s got one), and sing like a little bird. She’ll be very cheap to dress and keep, Peg; don’t you think she will?”
“If you don’t let her make a fool of you, she may,” returned Peg.
“A fool of me!” exclaimed Arthur. “Trust your old master not to be fooled by pretty faces, Peg; no, no, no—nor by ugly ones neither, Mrs. Sliderskew,” he softly added by way of soliloquy.
“You’re a saying something you don’t want me to hear,” said Peg; “I know you are.”
“Oh dear! the devil’s in this woman,” muttered Arthur; adding with an ugly leer, “I said I trusted everything to you, Peg. That was all.”
“You do that, master, and all your cares are over,” said Peg approvingly.
“When I do that, Peg Sliderskew,” thought Arthur Gride, “they will be.”
Although he thought this very distinctly, he durst not move his lips lest the old woman should detect him. He even seemed half afraid that she might have read his thoughts; for he leered coaxingly upon her, as he said aloud:
“Take up all loose stitches in the bottle-green with the best black silk. Have a skein of the best, and some new buttons for the coat, and—this is a good idea, Peg, and one you’ll like, I know—as I have never given her anything yet, and girls like such attentions, you shall polish up a sparking necklace that I have got upstairs, and I’ll give it her upon the wedding morning—clasp it round her charming little neck myself—and take it away again next day. He, he, he! I’ll lock it up for her, Peg, and lose it. Who’ll be made the fool of there, I wonder, to begin with—eh, Peg?”
Mrs. Sliderskew appeared to approve highly of this ingenious scheme, and expressed her satisfaction by various rackings and twitchings of her head and body, which by no means enhanced her charms. These she prolonged until she had hobbled to the door, when she exchanged them for a sour malignant look, and twisting her under-jaw from side to side, muttered hearty curses upon the future Mrs. Gride, as she crept slowly down the stairs, and paused for breath at nearly every one.
“She’s half a witch, I think,” said Arthur Gride, when he found himself again alone. “But she’s very frugal, and she’s very deaf. Her living costs me next to nothing; and it’s no use her listening at keyholes; for she can’t hear. She’s a charming woman—for the purpose; a most discreet old housekeeper, and worth her weight in—copper.”
Having extolled the merits of his domestic in these high terms, old Arthur went back to the burden of his song. The suit destined to grace his approaching nuptials being now selected, he replaced the others with no less care than he had displayed in drawing them from the musty nooks where they had silently reposed for many years.
Startled by a ring at the door, he hastily concluded this operation, and locked the press; but there was no need for any particular hurry, as the discreet Peg seldom knew the bell was rung unless she happened to cast her dim eyes upwards, and to see it shaking against the kitchen ceiling. After a short delay, however, Peg tottered in, followed by
