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280 half-washed-out traces of smut and blacklead which tattooed her countenance, was clearly of a kin with the servants-of-all-work on the form: between whom and herself there had passed various grins and glances, indicative of the freemasonry of the craft. This girl followed her mistress; and, before Nicholas had recovered from the first effects of his surprise and admiration, the young lady was gone. It is not a matter of such complete and utter improbability as some sober people may think, that he would have followed them out, had he not been restrained by what passed between the fat lady and her book-keeper. ‘When is she coming again, Tom?’ asked the fat lady. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ replied Tom, mending his pen. ‘Where have you sent her to?’ asked the fat lady. ‘Mrs Clark’s,’ replied Tom. ‘She’ll have a nice life of it, if she goes there,’ observed the fat lady, taking a pinch of snuff from a tin box. Tom made no other reply than thrusting his tongue into his cheek, and pointing the feather of his pen towards Nicholas-- reminders which elicited from the fat lady an inquiry, of ‘Now, sir, what can we do for you?’ Nicholas briefly replied, that he wanted to know whether there was any such post to be had, as secretary or amanuensis to a gentleman. ‘Any such!’ rejoined the mistress; ‘a-dozen-such. An’t there, Tom?’ ‘I should think so,’ answered that young gentleman; and as he said it, he winked towards Nicholas, with a degree of familiarity which he, no doubt, intended for a rather flattering compliment, but with which Nicholas was most ungratefully disgusted. |