“Something intermediate? I don’t understand you. Thank you; set the coffee down, Betsey.”
“Hah! Yes; capital cup of coffee, Arthur,” said the doctor, after a pause. “Best cup I’ve tasted for years.”
“Yes, it is nice,” said the Reverend Arthur, smiling, as if gratified at his friend’s satisfaction. “My sister always makes it herself.”
“That woman’s a treasure, sir. Might I ask for another cup?”
“Of course, my dear Harry. Pray consider that you are at home.”
The coffee was rung for and brought, after a whispered conversation between Betsey the maid and Miss Mary the mistress.
“What did they ring for, Betsey?” asked Miss Mary.
“The little gentleman wants some more coffee, ma’am.”
“Then he likes it,” said Miss Mary, who somehow seemed unduly excited. “But hush, Betsey; you must not say ‘the little gentleman,’ but ‘Dr Bolter.’ He is your master’s dearest friend.”
A minute or two later the maid came out from the little dining-room, with scarlet cheeks and wide-open eyes, to where Miss Mary was lying in wait.