"Coming round—all right," he said tenderly. "What cattle them old women are! drat them." A little pause followed.
"A deal better now, ma'am?"
"I'm startled, sir."
"Of course you're startled, ma'am."
"And faint."
"Why not, ma'am?"
Mrs. Rebecca Mervyn breathed three or four great sighs, and began to look again like a living woman.
"Now she looks quite nice," (he pronounced it ni-i-ishe) "doesn't she? You may make tracksh, young woman; go, will you?"
"I feel so much better," said the old lady when they were alone, "pray go on."
"You do—quite—ever so much better. Shall I go on?"