I cannot
describe the overpowering civilities of that woman.
Clive was very gracious and humble to her. He adopted a lively air in
addressing her--"Must work, you know, Christmas Day and all--for the
owner of the pictures will call for them in the morning. Bring me a good
report about Rosey, Mrs. Mackenzie, please--and if you will have the
kindness to look by the ecorche there, you will see that little packet
which I have left for you." Mrs. Mack, advancing, took the money. "I
thought that plaster of Paris figure was not the only ecorche in the
room."
"I want you to stay to dinner. You must stay, Pen, please," cried Clive;
"and be civil to her, will you? My dear old father is coming to dine
here. They fancy that he has lodgings at the other end of the town, and
that his brothers do something for him. Not a word about Grey Friars. It
might agitate Rosa, you know. Ah! isn't he noble, the dear old boy! and
isn't it fine to see him in that place?" Clive worked on as he talked,
using up the last remnant of the light of Christmas Day, and was cleaning
his palette and brushes, when Mrs.
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