“Anything the matter?” inquired Mrs. Bazalgette, attracted by the bruskness of his entry.
“Yes, there is,” said David sternly.
Lucy looked up.
“Miss Fountain's old nurse has been sitting in the hall more than half an hour, and nobody has had the politeness to go near her.”
“Oh, is that all? Well, don't look daggers at me. There is Lucy; give her a lesson in good-breeding, Mr. Dodd.” This was said a little satirically, and rather nettled David.
“Perhaps it does not become me to set up for a teacher of that. I know my own deficiencies as well as anybody in this house knows them; but this I know, that, if an old friend walked eight miles to see me, it would not be good-breeding in me to refuse to walk eight yards to see her. And, another thing, everybody's time is worth something; if I did not mean to see her, I would have that much consideration to send down and tell her so, and not keep the woman wasting her time as well as her trouble, and vexing her heart into the bargain.”
“Where is she, Mr. Dodd?” asked Lucy quickly.
“Where is she?” cried David, getting louder and louder. “Why, she is cooling her heels in the hall this half hour and more. They hadn't the manners to show her into a room.”
“I will go to her, Mr. Dodd,” said Lucy, turning a little pale. “Don't be angry; I will go directly”; and, having said this with an abject slavishness that formed a miraculous contrast with her late crossness and imperious chilliness, she put down her work hastily and went out; only at the door she curved her throat, and cast back, Parthian-like, a glance of timid reproach, as much as to say, “Need you have been so very harsh with a creature so obedient as this is?”
That deprecating glance did Mr. Dodd's business. It shot him with remorse, and made him feel a brute.