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Updated: June 17, 2025
It was a small, untidy room, smelling of smoky lamp; but all I saw distinctly at the moment was Miss Sellars with her arms above her head, pinning her hat upon her straw-coloured hair. With the sight of her before me in the flesh, my feelings underwent a sudden revulsion.
I made the rest of the descent by myself, and slipping out, closed the door behind me as noiselessly as possible. Again I did not return to Nelson Square until the early hours, and the next morning did not venture out until I had heard Miss Sellars, who appeared to be in a bad temper, leave the house. Then running to the top of the kitchen stairs, I called for Mrs. Peedles.
Polite protests were attempted, but these, with enthusiastic assistance from myself, she swept aside. "Don't want any one to walk home with you?" suggested Uncle Gutton. "Sure you won't feel lonely by yourselves, eh?" "We shan't come to no harm," assured him Miss Sellars. "P'raps you're right," agreed Uncle Gutton.
Platters, dishes, "potts," ladles, bottles, "flaggons," "skelletts," cups, porringers, "basons," spoons, candlesticks, and salt "sellars," were among the many pewter utensils unmistakably brought on the good ship. The wooden-ware of the colonists, brought with them, was considerable and various. The Dutch were long famous for its fabrication.
"You may take my harm, if you like," suggested Miss Sellars, as we crossed St. George's Circus; and linked, we pursued our way along the Kennington Park Road. Fortunately, there was not much need for me to talk. Miss Sellars was content to supply most of the conversation herself, and all of it was about herself. I learned that her instincts since childhood had been toward gentility.
I have vague remembrance of a somewhat heated discussion, in which everybody but myself appeared to be taking extreme interest of Miss Sellars in her most ladylike and chilling tones defending me against the charge of "being no gentleman," which Mrs. Peedles was explaining nobody had said I wasn't. The argument seemed to be of the circular order.
A reminder from the maternal Sellars that breakfast had been ordered for eleven o'clock caused a general movement and arrested Joseph's revelations. "See you again, perhaps," he murmured, and pushed past me. What Mrs. Sellars, I suppose, would have alluded to as a cold col-la-shon had been arranged for at a restaurant near by.
"Kelver," supplied Miss Sellars. "Kelver, to make your ac-quain-tance," recited Mrs. Sellars in the tone of one repeating a lesson. I bowed, and murmured that the honour was entirely mine. "Don't mention it," replied Mrs. Sellars. "Pray be seated." Mrs. Sellars herself set the example by suddenly giving way and dropping down into her chair, which thus again became invisible.
Something I had been dimly conscious of at the back of my brain came forward and stood before me: the flabby figure of Miss Rosina Sellars. What was she doing here? What right had she to step between me and my regeneration? "The right of your affianced bride," my other half explained, with a grim smile to myself. "Did I really go so far as that?"
As a delicate attention to Mrs. Peedles and her costume he sunk his nationality and became for the evening, according to his own declaration, "a braw laddie." With her his "sonsie lassie," so he termed her he flirted in the broadest, if not purest, Scotch. The O'Kelly for him became "the Laird;" the third floor "Jamie o' the Ilk;" Miss Sellars, "the bonnie wee rose;" myself, "the chiel."
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