Mrs. Puffit, having glibly run off this speech, left the room, and carried in her train the constable and Betty Williams, the printer's devil, and Mrs. Bertrand, the woman of the house. Miss Warwick, whose confusion during this whole scene was excessive, stood without power to speak or move. "Thank God, they are gone!" said Lady Frances; and she went to Angelina, and taking her hands gently from before her face, said, in a soothing tone, "Miss Warwick, your friend, Lady Frances Somerset, you cannot think that she suspects--" "La, dear, no!" cried Nat Gazabo, who had now sufficiently recovered from his fright and amazement to be able to speak: "Dear heart! who could go for to suspect such a thing? but they made such a bustle and noise, they quite flabbergasted me, so _many_ on them in this small room. Please to sit down, my lady.--Is there any thing I can do?" "If you could have the goodness, sir, to leave us for a few minutes," said Lady Frances, in a polite, persuasive manner--"you could have the goodness, sir, to leave us for a few minutes." Nat, who was not _always_ spoken to by so gentle a voice, smiled, bowed, and was retiring, when Miss Hodges came forward with an air of defiance: "Aristocratic insolence!" exclaimed she: "Stop, Nat--stir not a foot, at your peril, at the word of command of any of the privileged orders upon earth--stir not a foot, at your peril, at the behest of any titled _She_ in the universe!--Madam, or my lady--or by whatever other name more high, more low, you choose to be addressed--this is my husband." "Very probably, madam," said Lady Frances, with an easy calmness, which provoked Miss Hodges to a louder tone of indignation. "Stir not a foot, at your peril, Nat," cried she. "I will defend him, I say, madam, against every shadow, every penumbra of aristocratic insolence." "As you and he think proper, madam," replied Lady Frances. "'Tis easy to defend the gentleman against shadows." Miss Hodges marched up and down the room with her arms folded. Nat stood stock still. "The woman," whispered Lady Frances to Miss Warwick, "is either mad or drunk--or both; at all events we shall be better in another room." As she spoke, she drew Miss Warwick's arm within hers.--"Will you allow aristocratic insolence to pass by you, sir?" said she to Nat Gazabo, who stood like a statue in the doorway--he edged himself aside. "And is this your independence of soul, my Angelina?" cried Araminta, setting her back to the door, so as effectually to prevent her from passing--"and is this your independence of soul, my Angelina--thus, thus tamely to submit, to resign yourself again to your unfeeling, proud, prejudiced, intellect-lacking persecutors?" "This lady is my _friend_, madam," said Angelina, in as firm and tranquil a tone as she could command, for she was quite terrified by her Araminta's violence. "Take your choice, my dear; stay or follow me, as you think best," said Lady Frances.