Longer, much longer, Miss Hodges, spoke in the most peremptory voice; but whilst she was declaiming on her favourite topic, her Angelina was "revolving in her altered mind" the strange things which she had seen and heard in the course of the last half-hour; every thing appeared to her in a new light; when she compared the conversation and conduct of Miss Hodges with the sentimental letters of her Araminta; when she compared Orlando in description to Orlando in reality, she could scarcely believe her senses: accustomed as she had been to elegance of manners, the vulgarity and awkwardness of Miss Hodges shocked and disgusted her beyond measure. The disorder, and--for the words must be said--slatternly dirty appearance of her Araminta's dress, and of every thing in her apartment, were such as would have made a hell of heaven; and the idea of spending her life in a cottage with Mrs. Hodges Gazabo and Nat overwhelmed our heroine with the double fear of wretchedness and ridicule. "Another cup of tea, my Angelina?" said Miss Hodges, when she had finished her tirade against her persecutors, that is to say, her friends, "another cup, my Angelina?--do, after your journey and fatigue, take another cup." "No more, I thank you." "Then reach me that tragedy, Nat--you know--" "Your own tragedy, is it, my dear?" said he. "Ah, Nat, now! you never can keep a secret," said Miss Hodges. "I wanted to have surprised my Angelina." "I am surprised!" thought Angelina--"oh, how much surprised!" "I have a motto for our cottage here somewhere," said Miss Hodges, turning over the leaves of her tragedy--"but I'll keep that till to-morrow--since to-morrow's the day sacred to love and friendship." Nat, by way of showing his joy in a becoming manner, rubbed his hands, and hummed a tune. His mistress frowned, and bit her lips; but the signals were lost upon him, and he sung out, in an exulting tone-- "When the lads of the village so merrily, ah! Sound their tabours, I'll hand thee along." "Fool! Dolt! Idiot!" cried his Araminta, rising furious--"out of my sight!" Then, sinking down upon the chair, she burst into tears, and threw herself into the arms of her pale, astonished Angelina. "Oh, my Angelina!" she exclaimed, "I am the most ill-matched! most unfortunate! most wretched of women!" "Don't be _frighted_, miss," said Nat; "she'll come _to_ again presently--'tis only _her way_." As he spoke, he poured out a bumper of brandy, and kneeling, presented it to his mistress. "'Tis the only thing in life does her good," continued he, "in this sort of fits." "Heavens, what a scene!" said Miss Warwick to herself--"and the woman so heavy, I can scarce support her weight--and is this _my unknown friend?_"