“Look here,” cried Oldroyd; and putting the cup to his lips, he swallowed all that was at the bottom.
“You’re going to spit it out again as soon as you get outside.”
“Nonsense!” cried Oldroyd, laughing heartily as he poured out a fresh portion. “There, there, take it, and get well again.”
“You’re sure it’s right, and that it won’t hurt me?”
“I’m sure it will comfort you, and correct what is wrong.”
She watched him with her bright old eyes full of suspicion, and ended by taking the cup very doubtfully and swallowing its contents with a childlike shudder.
“There, give me a bit of sugar out of that basin, young man,” she cried emphatically; and, upon her desire being gratified, she settled herself down again in bed with a satisfied sigh.
“Ah, I feel better now,” she said. “I suppose you are not quite so young as you look, are you?”
“Really, Mrs Wattley, I don’t know,” replied Oldroyd, smiling.
“Perhaps you ar’n’t,” she continued looking at him critically. “I daresay you’re clever enough, or else you wouldn’t be here; but we ladies don’t like to have a single man to see us when we are ill. You ought to be married, you know.”