Elizabeth did not hear what James Poynter said about Bob, for she closed the door, took down the chain, opened slowly and grudgingly, and the visitor entered.
“How’s the doctor?”
“Awful, please, sir, just; he’s there with his eyes shut, as if he was going to die, and Miss Rich and Miss Janet taking it in turns to sit up night and day.”
“Ask Miss Chartley to come down and see me.”
“Which, please, sir, she said as she couldn’t see nobody now.”
“You go and do as I tell you.”
“Which it ain’t my place, sir, to answer the front-door-bell at all. Poor Bob!”
She ended with a sob, and put her apron to her eyes.
“I say,” said Poynter, giving her apron a twitch and dragging it down, “look here.”
“Well, I’m sure!” began Elizabeth indignantly.