Mr. Bucket makes a leg and comes forward, passing his familiar demon over the region of his mouth.
“Are you waiting to see Sir Leicester?”
“No, my Lady, I’ve seen him!”
“Have you anything to say to me?”
“Not just at present, my Lady.”
“Have you made any new discoveries?”
“A few, my Lady.”
This is merely in passing. She scarcely makes a stop, and sweeps upstairs alone. Mr. Bucket, moving towards the staircase-foot, watches her as she goes up the steps the old man came down to his grave, past murderous groups of statuary repeated with their shadowy weapons on the wall, past the printed bill, which she looks at going by, out of view.
“She’s a lovely woman, too, she really is,” says Mr. Bucket, coming back to Mercury. “Don’t look quite healthy though.”
Is not quite healthy, Mercury informs him. Suffers much from headaches.