He was conscious of not the slightest feeling of sorrow at the imminent death of Auntie Hamps. Even the image of the old lady fighting to fetch her breath scarcely moved him, though the deathbed of his father had been harrowing enough. He and Hilda had the same thought: "At last something has happened to Auntie Hamps!" And it gave zest.
"I must speak to you," said Hilda, low, and moved towards the inner door.
The clerk Simpson was behind them at his ink-stained desk, stamping letters, and politely pretending to be deaf.
"No," Edwin stopped her. "There's someone in there. We can't talk there."
"A customer?"
"Yes ... I say, Simpson. Have you done those letters?"
"Yes, sir," answered Simpson, smiling. He had been recommended as a "very superior" youth, and had not disappointed, despite a constitutional nervousness.
"Take them to the pillar, and call at Mr. Benbow's and tell them that I'll be round in about a quarter of an hour. I don't know as you need come back. Hurry up."
"Yes, sir."
Edwin and Hilda watched Simpson go.