“At the cost of very hard work, and much annoyance,” said Edgar.
“Oh! nothing—nothing, Earnshaw—mere bagatelles. I was tired, and had lost my temper—very wrong, but I suppose it will happen sometimes; and not being perfect myself, how am I to expect my people to be perfect?” said the philanthropist. “Never mind these little matters. The pother has blown over, and the good remains. By the way, Miss Lockwood is asking for you, Earnshaw—have you cleared up that business of hers? She’s in a bad way, poor creature! She would expose herself with bare arms and shoulders, till I sent her an opera-cloak, at a great sacrifice, from Robinson’s department, to cover her up; and she’s caught more cold. Go and see her, there’s a good fellow; she’s always asking for you.”
Miss Lockwood was in the ladies’ sitting-room, where Edgar had seen her before, wrapped in the warm red opera-cloak which Mr. Tottenham had sent her, and seated by the fire. Her cheeks were more hollow than ever, her eyes full of feverish brightness.
“Look here,” she said, when Edgar entered, “I don’t want you any longer. You’ve got it in your head I’m in a consumption, and you are keeping my papers back, thinking I’m going to die. I ain’t going to die—no such intention—and I’ll trouble you either to go on directly and get me my rights, or give me back all my papers, and I’ll look after them myself.”
“You are very welcome to your papers,” said Edgar. “I have written to Mr. Arden, to ask him to see me, but that is not on your account. I will give you, if you please, everything back.”
This did not content the impatient sufferer.
“Oh! I don’t want them back,” she said, pettishly—“I want you to push on—to push on! I’m tired of this life—I should like to try what a change would do. If he does not choose to take me home, he might take me to Italy, or somewhere out of these east winds. I’ve got copies all ready directed to send to his lawyers, in case you should play me false, or delay. I’m not going to die, don’t you think it; but now I’ve made up my mind to it, I’ll have my rights!”
“I hope you will take care of yourself in the meantime,” said Edgar, compassionately, looking at her with a somewhat melancholy face.
“Oh! get along with your doleful looks,” said Miss Lockwood, “trying to frighten me, like all the rest. I want a change—that’s what I want—change of air and scene. I want to go to Italy or somewhere. Push on—push on, and get it settled. I don’t want your sympathy—that’s what I want of you.”
Edgar heard her cough echo after him as he went along the long narrow passage, where he had met Gussy, back to Mr. Tottenham’s room. His patron called him from within as he was passing by.