I
remember the scene and the date well. We had been talking of the
signor's rapid recovery since the warmer weather had set in, and
praising Mr Hoggins's skill, and lamenting his want of refinement
and manner (it seems a curious coincidence that this should have
been our subject, but so it was), when a knock was heard--a
caller's knock--three distinct taps--and we were flying (that is to
say, Miss Matty could not walk very fast, having had a touch of
rheumatism) to our rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole
arrested us by calling out, as she came up the stairs, "Don't go--I
can't wait--it is not twelve, I know--but never mind your dress--I
must speak to you." We did our best to look as if it was not we
who had made the hurried movement, the sound of which she had
heard; for, of course, we did not like to have it supposed that we
had any old clothes that it was convenient to wear out in the
"sanctuary of home," as Miss Jenkyns once prettily called the back
parlour, where she was tying up preserves. So we threw our
gentility with double force into our manners, and very genteel we
were for two minutes while Miss Pole recovered breath, and excited
our curiosity strongly by lifting up her hands in amazement, and
bringing them down in silence, as if what she had to say was too
big for words, and could only be expressed by pantomime.
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