“Sad thing, ma’am,” said Mildred. “Better now, perhaps?”
“Put a stool under my feed. Zere, zere, sat will do. Now you light that match and hold to the end of ze bibe, and I will zen be bedder.”
Accordingly Mildred Tarnley, strongly tempted to mutter a criticism, but possibly secretly in awe of the tall and “big-made” woman who issued these orders, proceeded to obey them.
“No great odds of a smell arter all,” said Mrs. Tarnley, approvingly, after a little pause.
“And how long since Harry married?” inquired the smoker after another silence.
“I can’t know that nohow; but ’tis since Master Charles gave ’em the lend o’ the house.”
“Deeb people these Vairvields are,” laughed the big woman, drowsily.
“When will he come here?”
“To-morrow or next day, I wouldn’t wonder; but he never stays long, and he comes and goes as secret-like as a man about a murder a’most.”
“Ha, I dare say. Old Vairvield would cut him over the big shoulders with his horsewhip, I think. And when will your master come?”