Indeed, the poor
little creature experienced so much trouble and delay from having
to grope for these articles of dress in mud and kennel, and
suffered in these researches so much jostling, pushing, squeezing
and bandying from hand to hand, that by the time she reached the
street in which the notary lived, she was fairly worn out and
exhausted, and could not refrain from tears.
But to have got there at last was a great comfort, especially as
there were lights still burning in the office window, and therefore
some hope that she was not too late. So the Marchioness dried her
eyes with the backs of her hands, and, stealing softly up the
steps, peeped in through the glass door.
Mr Chuckster was standing behind the lid of his desk, making such
preparations towards finishing off for the night, as pulling down
his wristbands and pulling up his shirt-collar, settling his neck
more gracefully in his stock, and secretly arranging his whiskers
by the aid of a little triangular bit of looking glass. Before the
ashes of the fire stood two gentlemen, one of whom she rightly
judged to be the notary, and the other (who was buttoning his
great-coat and was evidently about to depart immediately) Mr Abel
Garland.
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