“Will that do, sir?”
“Yes; your tongue’s beautifully healthy, your eyes are bright, and your skin moist and cool. Why, what’s the matter?”
“Please sir, I’m quite well of a night,” said Eliza, with another bob, “but I do have such dreadful dreams.”
“Oh!” said Oldroyd, drawing in a long breath, “I see. Did you have a bad dream last night?”
“Oh yes, sir, please. I dreamed as a poacher were going to murder me, and I couldn’t run away.”
“Let me see; you had supper last night at half-past nine, did you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bread and Dutch cheese?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah, you want a little medicine,” said Oldroyd quietly. “I’ll send you some.”