“No, sir, there ain’t no need; she’s out. There’s no one at home but me and puss. I can talk to you to-day without her knowing and shouting after me. She ’ates me talking to the lodgers.—I knows you ain’t well.”
“What rubbish, my girl! I’m well enough.”
“Oh no; you ain’t, sir. I don’t mean poorly, and wants physic, but ill with wherritin’, same as I feels sometimes when I gets it extry from missus. I know what’s the matter; you’ve got what Mr Branton had when he spent six months over his ’cademy picture as was lovely, and they sent it back. He said it was the blues. That’s what you’ve got, because you can’t get on with yours, which is too lovely to be sent back. I know what a bother you’ve had to get a model for the middle there, and it worries you.”
“Well, yes, Miranda, my girl, I’ll confess it does.”
“I knowed it,” she cried, clapping her hands; “and just because you’re bothered, none of the gents don’t seem to come and see you now. Mr Leerondee ain’t been, and Mr Pacey don’t seem to come anigh you. Sometimes I feel glad, because he teases me so, and allus says things I don’t understand. But I don’t mind: I wish he’d come now and cheer you up.”
“Oh, I shall be all right, Mirandy, my little lassie, as soon—”
“Yes, that you will, sir, because you must get it done, you know. It is lovely.”
“Think so?” said Dale, who felt amused by the poor, thin, smutty little object’s interest in his welfare.
“Think so! Oh, there ain’t no thinking about it. I heard Mr Pacey tell Mr Leerondee that it was the best thing he ever see o’ yours. I do want you to get it done, sir. It seems such a pity for that big bit in the middle not to be painted.”
“Yes, girl; but it must wait.”