But the article
which astonished the new tenant of this chamber most was the ebony
escritoire that occupied its centre, with every thing set out for
ornament or use that is seen on a lady's writing-table. It was
impossible that such nick-nacks as he there beheld could be intended for
male use, and still less for such men as were the Squire's guests. Did
this chamber and its neighbor apartment usually own a female
proprietress? and if so, why was _he_ placed there? This idea by no
means alarmed the young landscape-painter, who had no more _mauvaise
honte_, nor dislike to adventures of gallantry, than Gil Blas de
Santillane. He sat down at the escritoire, and, taking up a gilt pen
with a ridiculous silk tassel, began a letter to the same person to whom
that day he had already dispatched a missive; but this time it was not
so brief: the day of brilliant dies and illuminated addresses had not as
yet set in, so he wrote at the top of the little scented sheet, in a
bold free hand, the word Crompton! and put a note of admiration after
it. Had you seen his face as he did so, you would have said it was a
note of triumph.
"My DEAR MOTHER,--_Veni, vidi, vici_--I have come, I have seen him, and
I am at all events tolerated. The perilous moment was when I told him
who I was.
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