“How long ago?”
“Just when you was getting better, please, my lady.”
“When she returns send her to me. What is your name?”
“Phœbe Chiffinch, please 'm.”
“And you are here——”
“In her place, please my lady.”
“Well, when she comes back you can assist. We shall have a great deal to do, and I like your face, Phœbe, and I'm so lonely, I think I'll get you to sit here in the window near me.”
And on a sudden the young lady burst into tears, and sobbed and wept bitterly.
The new maid was at her side, pouring all sorts of consolation into her ear, with odd phrases—quite intelligible, I daresay, over the bar of the “Guy of Warwick”—dropping h's in all directions, and bowling down grammatic rules like nine-pins.
She was wonderfully taken by the kind looks and tones of the pretty lady whom she saw in this distress, and with the silk curtains drawn back in the fading flush of evening.