“Some local irritation, ma’am?”
“Nonsense!” replied my aunt, and corked herself again, at one blow.
Mr. Chillip could do nothing after this, but sit and look at her feebly, as she sat and looked at the fire, until he was called up-stairs again. After some quarter of an hour’s absence, he returned.
“Well?” said my aunt, taking the cotton out of the ear nearest to him.
“Well, ma’am,” returned Mr. Chillip, “we are—we are progressing slowly, ma’am.”
“Ba—a—ah!” said my aunt, with a perfect shake on the contemptuous interjection. And corked herself, as before.
Really—really—as Mr. Chillip told my mother, he was almost shocked; speaking in a professional point of view alone, he was almost shocked. But he sat and looked at her, notwithstanding, for nearly two hours, as she sat looking at the fire, until he was again called out. After another absence, he again returned.
“Well?” said my aunt, taking out the cotton on that side again.
“Well, ma’am,” returned Mr. Chillip, “we are—we are progressing slowly, ma’am.”
“Ya—a—ah!” said my aunt. With such a snarl at him, that Mr. Chillip absolutely could not bear it. It was really calculated to break his spirit, he said afterwards. He preferred to go and sit upon the stairs, in the dark and a strong draught, until he was again sent for.