"It's Mr Poulter—can't you guess?" faltered Miss Nippett.
"Tell me, dear."
"I b'lieve I love him: reely I do. Don't laugh."
"Why should I?"
"There was nothing in it—don't run away thinking there was—but how could there be, 'im so great and noble and famous, and me—"
Increasing weakness would not suffer Miss Nippett to finish the sentence.
Mavis forced her to take some nourishment, after which, Miss Nippett lay back on her pillow, with her eyes fixed on the clock. Mavis sat in the chair by the bedside. Now and again, her eyes would seek the timepiece. Whenever she heard a sound downstairs (for some time the people of the house could be heard moving about), Miss Nippett would listen intently and then look wistfully at Mavis.
The girl divined how heartfully the dying woman hungered for Mr Poulter's coming.
Thrice Mavis offered to seek him out, but on each occasion Miss Nippett's terrified pleadings not to be left alone constrained her to stay.
It wanted a few minutes to eight when Miss Nippett fell into a peaceful doze. Mavis took this opportunity of making herself a much-needed cup of tea. Whilst she was gratefully sipping it, Miss Nippett suddenly awoke to say: