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Tweddle, if you're a man, will you sit there and tell me you don't know that that ring is on a certain person's finger? Will you do that?" The miserable man concluded that Ada had disregarded his entreaties, and told her sister all about the ring and the accursed statue. He could not see why the story should have so inflamed Bella; but her temper was always uncertain.
Haven't we all the week to be lively in?" "And I'm sure, ma'am," said Jauncy, recovering himself, "you make the most of your time. Talking of fog, Tweddle, did you see those lines on it in to-day's Umpire? Very smart, I call them; regular witty." "And do you both read a paper on Sunday mornings with 'smart' and 'witty' lines in it?" demanded Mrs. Collum.
How could I, when I didn't know there was any Miss Tweddle to come to? And what do you suppose I should go running about after Mr. Tweddle for? I wonder you're not ashamed to say such things!" "But," faltered Matilda, "you did go to those gardens with him, didn't you? And and I know he gave the ring to somebody!" Ada began to laugh. "You're quite correct, Miss Collum," she said; "so he did.
So they went in; Jauncy leading the way with the still complaining Bella, and Leander Tweddle bringing up the rear with Ada. They picked their way as well as they could in the darkness, caused by the closely planted trees and shrubs, down a winding path, where the sopped leaves gave a slippery foothold, and the branches flicked moisture insultingly in their faces as they pushed them aside.
"Where did you get that thing?" he inquired. "Isn't this place of yours small enough, without lumbering it up with statuary out of the Euston Road?" "I didn't get it there," said Leander. "I I thought it would be 'andy to 'ang the 'ats on." "Dear, dear," said the old gentleman, "why do you people dabble in matters you don't understand? Come here, Tweddle, and let me show you.
I thought my letter said so plain enough. I'm an engaged man now, you know, Tweddle. It wouldn't do if I went out to enjoy myself and left my young lady at home!" "No," agreed Leander Tweddle, with a moral twinge, "no, James. I'd forgot you were engaged. What's the lady's name, by-the-by?" "Parkinson; Bella Parkinson," was the answer. Leander had turned a deeper colour.
Should Professor Tweddle ever find himself in the Museum on a Bank Holiday, and enter the new gallery, he could hardly avoid seeing the magnificent cast numbered 333 in the catalogue, and reviving thereby recollections he has almost succeeded in suppressing.
The ring he gave you that night at Rosherwich!" "The girl's mad!" exclaimed the other. "He never gave me a ring in all his life! I wouldn't have taken it, if he'd asked me ever so. Mr. Tweddle indeed!" "Why do you say that?" said Matilda. "He has not got it himself, and your sister said he gave it to you, and and I saw it with my own eyes on your hand!"
But he had been thinking of a hand more slender and dainty than hers, and allowed himself to admit as much. "I I wasn't meaning you at all," he said bluntly. She laughed a little jarring laugh. "Oh, Matilda, of course! Nobody is like Matilda now! But come, Mr. Tweddle, you're not going to stand there and tell me that this wonderful Matilda of yours has hands no bigger than those?"
"I wish I knew what it was." "It's a classical statue, sir," he said, with what composure he might; "they're all made like that." "Are they, by Jove? But, Tweddle, I say, it moves: it's shaking its fist like old Harry!" "Oh, I think you're mistaken, sir, really! I don't perceive it myself." "Don't perceive it? But, hang it, man, look look in the glass! There! don't you see it does?
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