‘Well, I declare,’ cried Miggs. ‘Oh! Goodness gracious me!’
‘What’s the matter now?’ said Gabriel, turning sharply to her.
‘Why, if here an’t Miss Dolly,’ said the handmaid, stooping down to look into her face, ‘a-giving way to floods of tears. Oh mim! oh sir. Raly it’s give me such a turn,’ cried the susceptible damsel, pressing her hand upon her side to quell the palpitation of her heart, ‘that you might knock me down with a feather.’
The locksmith, after glancing at Miss Miggs as if he could have wished to have a feather brought straightway, looked on with a broad stare while Dolly hurried away, followed by that sympathising young woman: then turning to his wife, stammered out, ‘Is Dolly ill? Have I done anything? Is it my fault?’
‘Your fault!’ cried Mrs V. reproachfully. ‘There—you had better make haste out.’
‘What have I done?’ said poor Gabriel. ‘It was agreed that Mr Edward’s name was never to be mentioned, and I have not spoken of him, have I?’
Mrs Varden merely replied that she had no patience with him, and bounced off after the other two. The unfortunate locksmith wound his sash about him, girded on his sword, put on his cap, and walked out.
‘I am not much of a dab at my exercise,’ he said under his breath, ‘but I shall get into fewer scrapes at that work than at this. Every man came into the world for something; my department seems to be to make every woman cry without meaning it. It’s rather hard!’
But he forgot it before he reached the end of the street, and went on with a shining face, nodding to the neighbours, and showering about his friendly greetings like mild spring rain.