“Such a change, ma’am; such a change. Poor darling! If that other business had gone on, it would have broken her poor, dear heart.”
“Yes, Denton,” said Mrs Hampton, as she went on knitting. And then to herself: “Well, somehow, it’s very pleasant to be down here in the quaint old place.”
“What does the doctor say about Mr Saul, ma’am?” asked Denton another time, for there was nothing she enjoyed better than respectfully asking a few questions, and leading the lady guest of the place into a long chat.
“That he is very bad, Denton.”
“Poor young man! Do you think I ought to go and nurse him, ma’am?”
“No, Denton,” said the old lady so decidedly, that the housekeeper started, and looked at her wonderingly.
Their further conversation was stopped by the sound of Gertrude’s voice singing as she came in from the garden, and the old housekeeper stood with her hands clasped, gazing towards the door.
“Like a bird,” she said softly—“like a bird. It does my old heart good to hear her sing again. Its just like old times, ma’am; while lately, since poor, dear old master’s death and those marriage troubles came upon her, she has not been like the same.”
“She seems merry enough now, Denton.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the old woman, pausing at the door as she opened it, “she’s merry enough now. And I know why—and I know why,” she added to herself, with a pleasant little laugh. “Poor darling! If she marries now, it will be the man who has stolen away her heart.”