Eliza smiled to herself as she said this, giving herself the credit of having managed a splendid little bit of diplomacy, for, according to her code, young gents ought to have opportunities to talk to young ladies whenever there was a chance. She was, however, terribly taken aback by the young doctor’s words.
“Thank you, yes, but I don’t want to see her,”—words which, had she heard them, would have made Lucy’s sobs come more quickly. “Is Mr Alleyne in?”
“Yes, sir, he’s in the observatory.”
“I’ll come in then,” said Oldroyd; and he dismounted, and threw the rein over the ring hook in the yard wall.
“If you please, sir,” said the maid, who did not like to lose an opportunity now that a medical man was in the house, “I don’t think I’m very well.”
“Eh, not well?” said Oldroyd, pausing in the hall, “why you appear as rosy and bonny as a girl can look.”
“Thankye, sir,” said the girl, with a bob; “but I’m dreadful poorly, all the same.”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
For answer Eliza put her hands behind her, and seemed as if she were indulging in the school-girl trick of what is called “making a face” at the doctor, for she closed her eyes, opened her mouth, wrinkled her brow, and put out a very long red tongue, which quivered and curled up at the point.
“That’ll do,” said Oldroyd, hiding a smile; and the tongue shot back, Eliza’s eyes opened, her mouth closed, and the wrinkles disappeared from her face.