"Of whom, sir?" inquired the tall old lady, who had remained standing all this time, as she had received him, and was now looking at him with eyes, not of suspicion, but of undisguised fear.
"Of your husband, ma'am, I mean," drawled he, eyeing her with his cunning smile.
"You don't mean, sir——" said she faintly, and thereupon she was seized with a trembling, and sat down, and her very lips turned white, and Mr. Levi began to think "the old girl was looking uncommon queerish," and did not like the idea of "its happening," under these circumstances.
"There, ma'am—don't take on! Where's the water? Da-a-a-mn the drop!" he exclaimed, turning up mugs and jugs in a flurry. "I say—Mary Anne—Jane—chick-a-biddy—girl—be alive there, will ye?" howled the visitor over the banister. "Water, can't ye? Old woman's sick!"
"Better now, sir—better—just open that—a little air, please," the old lady whispered.
With some hurried fumbling he succeeded in getting the lattice open.
"Water, will you? What a time you're about it, little beast!" he bawled in the face of the child.
"Much better, thanks—very much better," whispered the old lady.
"Of course, you're better, ma'am. Here it is at la-a-ast. Have some water, ma'am? Do. Give her the water, you little fool."
She sipped a little.