“I wouldn’t be outside,” said Mr. Jones, another stockbroker, “for a trifle.”
“Nor I, as a speculation in options,” said Mr. Parsons, another frequenter of the Alley.
“I wonder what Mat is waiting for,” said Mr. Tidwell, “for we are full inside and out.”
Mr. Tidwell’s doubt was soon solved,--the coach-door opened and Mat somewhat ostentatiously enquired, what indeed he very well knew--“I believe every place is took up inside?”
“We’re all here,” answered Mr. Jones, on behalf of the usual complement of old stagers.
“I told you so, Ma’am,” said Mat, to a female who stood beside him, but still leaving the door open to an invitation from within. However, nobody spoke--on the contrary, I felt Mr. Hindmarsh, my next neighbour, dilating himself like the frog in the fable.
“I don’t know what I shall do,” exclaimed the woman; “I’ve nowhere to go to, and it’s raining cats and dogs!”
“You’d better not hang about, anyhow,” said Mat, “for you may ketch your death,--and I’m the last coach,--aint I, Mr. Jones?”
“To be sure you are,” said Mr. Jones, rather impatiently; “shut the door.”
“I told the lady the gentlemen couldn’t make room for her,” answered Mat, in a tone of apology,--“I’m very sorry, my dear” (turning towards the female), “you should have _my_ seat, if you could hold the ribbons--but such a pretty one as you ought to have a coach of her own.”
“Stop, Mat, stop!” cried Mr. Dornton, and the door quickly unclosed again; “I can’t give up my place for I’m expected home to dinner; but if the lady wouldn’t object to sit on my knees----”
“Not the least in the world,” answered Mat, eagerly; “you won’t object, will you, Ma’am, for once in a way, with a married gentleman, and a wet night, and the last coach on the road?”
“If I thought I shouldn’t uncommode,” said the lady, precipitately furling her wet umbrella, which she handed in to one gentleman, whilst she favoured another with her muddy pattens. She then followed herself, Mat shutting the door behind her, in such a manner as to help her in. “I’m sure I’m obliged for the favour,” she said, looking round; “but which gentleman was so kind?”
“It was I who had the pleasure of proposing, Madam,” said Mr. Dornton; and before he pronounced the last word she was in his lap, with an assurance that she would sit as lightsome as she could. Both parties seemed very well pleased with the arrangement; but to judge according to the rules of Lavater, the rest of the company were but ill at ease. For my own part, I candidly confess I was equally out of humour with myself and the person who had set me such an example of gallantry. I, who had read the lays of the Troubadours--the awards of the old “Courts of Love,”--the lives of the “preux Chevaliers”--the history of Sir Charles Grandison--to be outdone in courtesy to the sex by a married stockbroker! How I grudged him the honour she conferred upon him--how I envied his feelings!