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Updated: May 4, 2025
He found Miss Twexby seated in the bar, with a decidedly cross face, which argued ill for anyone who held converse with her that day; but as Slivers was quite as crabbed as she was, and, moreover, feared neither God nor man much less a woman he tackled her at once. 'Where's your father? he asked, abruptly, leaning on his stick and looking intently at the fair Martha's vinegary countenance.
Miss Twexby was so taken by surprise, that she could offer no resistance, and by the time she had recovered herself, Gaston had disappeared into Pierre's room and closed the door after him.
Some day, Mademoiselle, he said, turning to Miss Twexby and walking back to the house with her, 'I will ask you to let me have some of the roots of that plant to make an experiment with. 'As much as you like, said the fair Martha, amiably; 'it's a nasty smelling thing. What are you going to make out of it?
Now, Miss Twexby knew that Slivers was in the habit of doing business with her parent, and, moreover was a power in the share market, so she did not deem it diplomatic to go too far, and bottling up her wrath for a future occasion, when no loss would be involved, she graciously asked Slivers what he'd be pleased to have.
'Why, that other Frenchman! retorted Martha, going to her place behind the bar, 'Peter something; a low, black wretch, all beard, with no tongue, and a thirst like a lime-kiln. 'Oh, the dumb man. Miss Twexby nodded. 'That's him, she said, triumphantly, 'he's been here for the last two weeks. 'Drunk, I think you said, remarked Slivers, politely.
Rumour said he had made a lot of money out of gold-mining, and that he kept the hotel more for amusement than anything else; but, however this might be, the trade of the Wattle Tree brought him in a very decent income, and Mr Twexby could afford to take things easy which he certainly did.
Pierre pointed out the letter, and although it was directed to her father, Miss Twexby, who managed everything, opened it and found it was from McIntosh, saying that the bearer, Pierre Lemaire, was to have a bed for the night, meals, drinks, and whatever else he required, and that he McIntosh would be responsible for the money. He furthermore added that the bearer was dumb.
Then she sat down behind her bar and resumed her perusal of a novel called The Duke's Duchesses, or The Milliner's Mystery, which contained a ducal hero with bigamistic proclivities, and a virtuous milliner whom the aforesaid duke persecuted. All of which was very entertaining and improbable, and gave Miss Twexby much pleasure, judging from the sympathetic sighs she was heaving.
On arriving at the Wattle Tree Hotel he was received by Miss Twexby in dignified silence, for that astute damsel was beginning to regard the fascinating Frenchman as a young man who talked a great deal and meant nothing. He was audacious enough to win her virgin heart and then break it, so Miss Twexby thought the wisest thing would be to keep him at a distance.
Mrs Twexby had long ago departed this life, leaving behind her the sharp, red-nosed damsel to be her father's comfort. As a matter of fact, she was just the opposite, and Simon often wished that his daughter had departed to a better world in company with her mother.
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