Aunt Hannah was silent. She could not deny the impeachment, and she sat there with her work in her lap, thinking about how late it was; how hungry the doctor would be, and how cross it would make him, for he always grew irritable when kept waiting for his meals.
Then she began to think about going and making the tea, and about the chicken, which would be done to death, and the doctor did not like chickens dry.
Just then there was a diversion.
Eliza came to the door.
“If you please ’m, cook says shall she send up the chicken? It’s half-past six.”
Aunt Hannah looked at the doctor, and the doctor looked at his watch.
“Wait a minute,” he said; and then: “No, I’ll give him another quarter of an hour.”
“What a tantrum Martha will be in,” muttered Eliza, as she left the room.
“Oh, that poor chicken!” thought Aunt Hannah, and then aloud:—
“I hope Vane has not met with any accident.”