“I don’t think she’s never without one,” remarked Sally, dipping her brush into the saucer of white sand.
“Where’s Mr. Skate?”
“Him? Oh, he be gone over to Alcester market, sir.”
“You go and find your mistress, Sally, and say I particularly wish to speak with her. Tell her that I have some very good news for her.”
Sally left her brush and her sand, and went out with the message. The doctor strolled into the best parlour, and cribbed one of the many roses intruding their blooming beauty into the open window. Mr. Duffham had to exercise his patience. It seemed to him that he waited half-an-hour.
Annet came in at last, saying how sorry she was to have kept him: she had stepped over to see their carter’s wife, who was ill, and Sally had only just found her. She wore her morning gown of black and white print, with the small net widow’s cap on her bright hair. But for the worn look in her face, the sad eyes, she was just as pretty as ever; and Duffham thought so.
“Sally says you have some good news for me,” she observed with a poor, faint smile. “It must be a joke of yours, Mr. Duffham. There’s no news that could be good for me.”
“Wait till you hear it,” said he. “You have had a fortune left you! It is so good, Mrs. Frank Radcliffe, that I’m afraid to tell you. You may go into a fit; or do some other foolish thing.”
“Indeed no. Nothing can ever have much effect on me again.”