"Because I didn't suppose you liked him well enough to care about his coming home; besides, it was Octavius' place to tell you."
"Well, I don't care about his coming, or his going either, for that matter, but I do care about knowing things that happen under my very nose within a reasonable time of their happening. I'm not in my dotage yet, I'll have you to understand."
Aileen was silent.
"Come, say something, can't you?" she snapped.
"What do you want me to say, Mrs. Champney?" She spoke wearily, but not impatiently. The daily, almost hourly demands of this sick old woman had, in a way, exhausted her.
"Tell me what he's doing."
"He's at work."
"Where?"
"In the sheds—Shed Number Two."
"What!" Paralysis prevented any movement of her hands, but her head jerked on the pillow to one side, towards Aileen.