Читать книгу Within the Precincts онлайн

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“Thank you, very much!” said Lottie with great state, “it is not necessary. When I want lessons, I can—ask for them, M. Rossinetti.” She had been about to say pay, but Lottie was honest, and though she longed to inflict the insult, would not say what was not true. She did not even see young Purcell’s pathetic looks as he gazed at her, with the air of a suppliant on his knees, over his master’s shoulder; but she saw the half shrug of the Signor’s shoulders as he stood aside to let her pass. And perhaps had she but known it there was something comic, too, in the dignity with which she swept past with a little wave of her hand. It was like Lady Caroline, though Lottie did not intend it to be so. The two musicians stood looking after her as she walked majestically homewards, with so many commotions in her bosom. She had to pass through the little square in which the lay clerks lived, on her way, and as if to accomplish Lottie’s humiliation, Rowley the tenor—who was her teacher—was standing at his door as she passed. The Chevaliers of St. Michael’s took little notice of the lay clerks as, may be supposed (except the O’Shaughnessys, who were not particular); and though Lottie was his pupil, Rowley had never transgressed the due limits of respectfulness or pretended to any friendship with the young lady. But the wedding had affected the morals of St. Michael’s generally, and made a revolution for the day; and as Lottie passed, the tenor took advantage of the opportunity. “How are you, Miss?” he said, with a sniff and a lurch which showed the source of his boldness; “won’t you come in and have a chat? won’t you come in and have some tea with my little girl, Miss Lottie?” Good heavens! what had Lottie done to be addressed in this way? and she knew that the two others would hear this demonstration of intimacy. She rushed past, stumbling over her dress, wild with resentment and mortification. This was what it was to be poor, to be in a false position, to be a poor gentlewoman among the rich! One mortification had followed another, so that she did not know how to bear it. Augusta’s neglect, the Signor’s insulting suggestion, and Rowley’s familiarity! Lottie did not know which was the most hard to bear. She never drew breath until she had reached her own door.