I had forgotten that I was dressed as a Quaker. “Tell the coachman to stop at the first cloth warehouse where they have ready-made cloaks,” said I. The man did so; I went out and purchased a roquelaure, which enveloped my whole person. I then stopped at a hatter’s, and purchased a hat according to the mode. “Now drive to the Piazza,” said I, entering the coach. I know not why, but I was resolved to go to that hotel. It was the one I had stayed at when I first arrived in London, and I wished to see it again. When the hackney coach stopped, I asked the waiter who came out whether he had apartments, and answering me in the affirmative, I followed him, and was shown into the same rooms I had previously occupied.
“These will do,” said I, “now let me have something to eat, and send for a good tailor.” The waiter offered to remove my cloak, but I refused, saying that I was cold. He left the room, and I threw myself on the sofa, running over all the scenes which had passed in that room with Carbonnell, Harcourt, and others. My thoughts were broken in upon by the arrival of the tailor. “Stop a moment,” said I, “and let him come in when I ring.” So ashamed was I of my Quaker’s dress, that I threw off my coat and waistcoat, and put on my cloak again before I rang the bell for the tailor to come up. “Mr—,” said I, “I must have a suit of clothes ready by to-morrow at ten o’clock.” “Impossible, sir.”
“Impossible!” said I, “and you pretend to be a fashionable tailor. Leave the room.”
At this peremptory behaviour the tailor imagined that I must be somebody.
“I will do my possible, sir, and if I can only get home in time to stop the workmen, I think it may be managed. Of course, you are aware of the expense of night work.”
“I am only aware of this, that if I give an order I am accustomed to have it obeyed; I learnt that from my poor friend, Major Carbonnell.”
The tailor bowed low; there was magic in the name, although the man was dead.
“Here have I been masquerading in a Quaker’s dress, to please a puritanical young lady, and I am obliged to be off without any other clothes in my portmanteau; so take my measure, and I expect the clothes at ten precisely.” So saying, I threw off my roquelaure, and desired him to proceed. This accomplished, the tradesman took his leave. Shortly afterwards, the door opened, and as I lay wrapped up in my cloak on the sofa, in came the landlord and two waiters, each bearing a dish of my supper. I wished them at the devil; but I was still more surprised when the landlord made a low bow, saying, “Happy to see you returned, Mr Newland; you’ve been away some time—another grand tour, I presume.”
“Yes, Mr ——, I have had a few adventures since I was last here,” replied I, carelessly, “but I am not very well. You may leave the supper, and if I feel inclined, I will take a little by-and-bye,—no one need wait.”