Rising from the now exhausted tea-table, he drew out a small
pocket-mirror and surveyed himself therein with a mild approval. With
the extreme end of his handkerchief he tenderly removed two sacrilegious
crumbs that presumed to linger in the corners of his piously pursed
mouth. In the same way he detached a morsel of congealed butter that
clung pertinaciously to the end of his bashfully retreating nose. This
done, he again looked at himself with increased satisfaction, and,
putting by his pocket-mirror, rang the bell. It was answered at once by
a tall, strongly built woman, with a colorless, stolid countenance,--that
might have been carved out of wood for any expression it had in it.
"Ulrika," said Mr. Dyceworthy blandly, "you can clear the table."
Ulrika, without answering, began to pack the tea-things together in a
methodical way, without clattering so much as a plate or spoon, and,
piling them compactly on a tray, was about to leave the room, when Mr.
Dyceworthy called to her, "Ulrika!"
"Sir?"
"Did you ever see a thing like this before?" and he held up the crucifix
to her gaze.
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