“Why, James Burdock,” cried the lady, removing her hood, “have you forgotten your mistress?”
“Mistress! Why, Miss Mabel, I ask your pardon, madam—here, John, Margery!”
“Hush!” cried Mrs. Vane.
“But where are your trunks, miss? And where's the coach, and Darby and Joan? To think of their drawing you all the way here! I'll have 'em into your room directly, ma'am. Miss, you've come just in time.”
“What a dear, good, stupid old thing you are, James. Where is Ernest—Mr. Vane? James, is he well and happy? I want to surprise him.”
“Yes, ma'am,” said James, looking down.
“I left the old stupid coach at Islington, James. The something—pin was loose, or I don't know what. Could I wait two hours there? So I came on by myself; you wicked old man, you let me talk, and don't tell me how he is.”
“Master is main well, ma'am, and thank you,” said old Burdock, confused and uneasy.
“But is he happy? Of course he is. Are we not to meet to-day after six months? Ah! but never mind, they are gone by.”
“Lord bless her!” thought the faithful old fellow. “If sitting down and crying could help her, I wouldn't be long.”