Taking no notice of the uncourteous manner in which she had addressed
me, I civilly asked her what had become of Mr. Lancaster.
"Who's Mr. Lancaster?" she said fiercely. "I know no Mr. Lancaster."
"The gentleman," I replied, "who came in here with me, and who drank
wine with me."
"I know nothing about him," said the virago; "I never saw him before."
"That's strange," said I; "he told me that he was in the habit of
frequenting this house."
"If he did so, he told you a lie," replied the lady; "and I tell you
again, that I know nothing about him, and that I never saw him before,
nor ever expect to see him again."
I now informed her that I missed a pocket-book containing a considerable
sum of money, and, simply enough, asked her if she had it, or knew
anything about it.
At this, her rage, which before she seemed to have great difficulty in
controlling, burst out in the wildest fury.
"I know nothing about your pocket-book," she exclaimed, stamping
passionately on the floor; "nor do I believe you had one. It's all a
fetch to bilk me out of my reckoning; but I'll take care of you, you
swindler! I'm not to be done that way. Come, down with the price of the
two bottles of wine you and your pal drank--fifteen shillings--or I'll
have the worth of them out of your skin." And she flourished the
candlestick in such a way as led me to expect every instant that it
would descend on my skull.
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