“Can William have the pony to go into town?” asked she, in a half-submissive voice.
“For what?”
“To tell Dr. Tobin to come out; Lady Trafford is taken ill.”
“He can go on foot; I may want the pony.”
“She is alarmingly ill, I fear,—very violent spasms; and I don't think there is any time to be lost.”
“Nobody that makes such a row as that can be in any real danger.”
“She is in great pain, at all events.”
“Send one of her own people,—despatch one of the postboys,—do what you like, only don't bore me.”
She was turning to leave the room, when he called out, “I say, when the attack came on did she take the opportunity to tell you any pleasant little facts about yourself or your family?” She smiled faintly, and moved towards the door. “Can't you tell me, ma'am? Has this woman been condoling with you over your hard fate and your bad husband? or has she discovered how that 'dear boy' upstairs broke his head as well as his heart in your service?”
“She did ask me certainly if there was n't a great friendship between you and her son,” said she, with a tone of quiet disdain.