There I sat, “dratting” the stupidity of that Emma, until positively I felt the shivers coming on, and was convinced that if I didn’t do something, I should be having a doctor’s bill as long as my arm to pay, and be, perhaps, a martyr to the rheumatism for the rest of my days. All of a sudden, just as I was driven to desperation, it struck me that perhaps the plaguy box belonged to a married couple, and there might be a gown or a wrapper in it that one could put on; and as I dare say whoever had got my trunk wouldn’t be very particular with it, I didn’t see why I should go sparing theirs. Accordingly I began unpacking it. The first thing I took out was a great big ugly pilot coat, smelling away of tobacco smoke enough to knock one down,--then, three or four coloured shirts, some with blue stripes like a bed-tick, and others with large red spots, as if they had been made out of a clown’s dress,--then there was a box of shaving soap--and a bottle of whisker-dye--and a fishing-rod--and a couple of pairs of trowsers, with patterns big enough for druggets--and a bothering German flute--a bright blue surtout--a magic razor-strop--a pot of Yarmouth bloaters--a volume of Blair’s Sermons--and some socks, oh, la! as full of large round holes as the front of a peep-show. I really didn’t know what to do. It was impossible for me to sit trembling away there like a jelly, so I made up my mind just to slip on the pilot coat, and a pair of the socks, which at least were dry, while I hung my gown over the chair, before the fire, and then wait patiently until I could gain some tidings of my lost box. When I took a peep at myself in the glass, upon my word, if, with that beastly pilot coat on, I didn’t look more like an old apple-woman in the streets than a respectable married female. However, I did feel more comfortable, and it was not the time to think about looks. Whilst I was seated in front of the fire, with the collar of the coat turned up so as to keep my neck warm, and longing for a nice cup of warm tea, who should come in but the maid with the tray, but no sooner did she catch sight of me, than she took me for a brute of a man, and saying, “I beg your pardon, sir, I thought it was the lady in the next room,” she whisked out of the place, although I called out--“Here! here! that tea is for me!” as loud as ever I could.