Tag-rag saw his wife getting redder and redder. "No news stirring about things in general, is there?" said he, with a desperate attempt at a diversion.
"Not that I have heard," replied Titmouse. Soon he got a little farther, and said how cheerful the stages going past must make the house. Tag-rag agreed with him. Then there was a little pause. None of the party knew exactly which way to look, nor in what posture to sit. Faint "hems" were occasionally heard. In short, no one felt _at home_.
"Been to church, mem, this morning, mem?" timidly inquired Titmouse of Miss Tag-rag--the first time of his daring to address her.
"Yes, sir," she replied, faintly coloring, casting her eyes to the ground, and suddenly putting her hand into that of her mother--with _such_ an innocent, engaging simplicity--like a timid fawn lying as close as possible to its dam![13]
"We always go to _chapel_, sir," said Mrs. Tag-rag, confidently, in spite of a deadly look from her husband; "the _gospel_ a'n't preached in the Church of England! We sit under Mr. Horror--a heavenly preacher! You've heard of Mr. Horror?"
"Yes, mem! Oh, yes! Capital preacher!" replied Titmouse, who of course (being a true churchman) had never in his life heard of Mr. Horror, or any other dissenter.
"When _will_ dinner be ready, Mrs. T.?" inquired Tag-rag, abruptly, and with a very perceptible dash of sternness in his tone; but dinner was announced the very next moment. He took his wife's arm, and in doing so, gave it a sudden vehement pressure, which, coupled with a furious glance, explained to her the extent to which she had incurred his anger!
Titmouse's offered arm the timid Miss Tag-rag scarcely touched with the tip of her finger, as she walked beside him to dinner. He soon got tolerably composed and cheerful at dinner, (which, contrary to their usual custom--which was to have a cheerless _cold_ dinner on the Sabbath--consisted of a little piece of nice roast beef, with plenty of horse-radish, Yorkshire pudding, a boiled fowl, a plum-pudding made by Mrs. Tag-rag, and custards which had been superintended by Miss Tag-rag herself,) and, to oblige his hospitable host and hostess, ate till he was near bursting. Miss Tag-rag, though really very hungry, could be prevailed upon to take only a very small slice of beef and a quarter of a custard, and drank a third of a glass of quasi sherry (_i. e._ Cape wine) after dinner. She never once spoke, except in hurried answers, to her papa and mamma; and sitting exactly opposite Titmouse, (with a big plate of greens and a boiled fowl between them,) was continually coloring whenever their eyes happened to encounter one another, on which occasions, hers would suddenly drop, as if overpowered by the brilliance of his. Titmouse began to love her very fast. After the ladies had withdrawn, you should have heard the way in which Tag-rag went on with Titmouse!--I can liken the two to nothing but an old fat spider and a little fly.