English fiction -- 19th century; Tailors -- Fiction
'The Duke inquired of me whether I would, under the circumstances, while
proceedings were going on which I did not approve of, take the
responsibility of allowing my name to remain--'
'Ha! ha! ha!' the Major burst out. This was too good a joke. The name
of a miserable young tailor!' Go on, sir, go on!' He swallowed his
laughter like oil on his rage.
'I have said sufficient.'
Jumping up, the Major swore by the Lord, that he had said sufficient.
'Now, look you here, young man.' He squared his finger before Evan,
eyeing him under a hard frown, 'You have been playing your game again,
as you did down at that place in Hampshire. I heard of it--deserved to
be shot, by heaven! You think you have got hold of the Duke, and you
throw me over. You imagine, I dare say, that I will allow my wife to be
talked about to further your interests--you self-seeking young dog! As
long as he lent the Company his name, I permitted a great many things.
Do you think me a blind idiot, sir? But now she must learn to be
satisfied with people who 've got no titles, or carriages, and who can't
give hundred guinea compliments. You're all of a piece-a set of . . .'
The Major paused, for half a word was on his mouth which had drawn
lightning to Evan's eyes.
Not to be baffled, he added: 'But look you, sir. I may be ruined.
I dare say the Company will go to the dogs--every ass will follow a Duke.
But, mark, this goes on no more. I will be no woman's tally. Mind, sir,
I take excellent care that you don't traffic in your sister!'
The Major delivered this culminating remark with a well-timed deflection
of his forefinger, and slightly turned aside when he had done.
You might have seen Evan's figure rocking, as he stood with his eyes
steadily levelled on his sister's husband.
The Major, who, whatever he was, was physically no coward, did not fail
to interpret the look, and challenge it.
Evan walked to the door, opened it, and said, between his teeth, 'You
must go at once.'
'Eh, sir, eh? what's this?' exclaimed the warrior but the door was open,
Mr. Goren was in the shop; the scandal of an assault in such a house, and
the consequent possibility of his matrimonial alliance becoming bruited
in the newspapers, held his arm after it had given an involuntary jerk.
He marched through with becoming dignity, and marched out into the
street; and if necks unelastic and heads erect may be taken as the sign
of a proud soul and of nobility of mind, my artist has the Major for his
model.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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