“Wha'at letter?”
“The letter you gave me last night for her.”
“O-oh! Ah! I wonder—eh? Do you happen to know what wa'azh in that ere letter?” he asked, in an insinuating whisper.
“Not I, Mr. Levice. She don't trust me not as far as you'd throw a bull by the tail. You might 'av' managed that better. You must 'a frightened her some way about me. I try to be agreeable all I can, but she won't a-look at me.”
“Well, I don't want to know, I'm sure. Did she talk of going out of doors since?”
“No; there's a frost in the hair still, and she says till that's gone she won't stir out.”
“That frost will last a bit, I guess. Any more newshe?”
“Nothing.”
“Wait a minute 'ere,” said Mr. Levi, and he went into the room beyond this, where she knew there were writing materials.
She waited some time, and at length took the liberty of sitting down. She was kept a good while longer. The sun went down; the drowsy crimson that heralds night overspread the sky. She coughed; several fits of coughing she tried at short intervals. Had Mr. Levice, as she called him, forgotten her? He came out at length in the twilight.