“You—you have a letter?”
“No,” said Dally, shaking her head, and struggling just a little for appearance’ sake.
“Is she coming, then?”
“No, she isn’t; for she’s too ill.”
“Eh? Nonsense!”
“But indeed she is, sir, and confined to her bed.”
“And she sent you, Dally. Oh! how good of her.”
“No, nor she didn’t send me neither, Mr Candlish; and do let go. You shouldn’t.”
“Has she caught a cold, Dally?”
“Horrid bad one; and she’s gone right off her head.”