“Av coorse the bit of a letther is from the missus,” said she. “I hope she is betther.”
“Is dinner ready, Biddy?” I replied, trying to laugh.
“All ready, sir. Sure the missus must be betther, for she brought the letther herself.”
“She is better, Biddy. There is trouble between us.”
“Faix, I knew it from the firsht!”
“Let me have my dinner now, and we will talk about it another time.”
She seemed to be proud to have even so much of my confidence, and she flew around with an alacrity which was as creditable to her locomotive powers as it was to her Irish heart. Even her looks were full of respectful sympathy. I sat down to the table, and taking her place behind my chair, she waited upon me with a zeal which would have shamed the black coats of a fashionable hotel.
“In a word, Biddy, my wife refuses to live in this house with me. That’s all the trouble we have,” said I, as I began to eat my dinner.
“Bad luck to her for that same!”
It was very undignified for me to say anything to my servant, or to any one, indeed, about a matter of this kind, but I was absolutely hungry for a confidant to whom I could pour out my griefs. If the matter was to go any farther, I intended to send for Tom Flynn, and talk over the situation with him. It seemed as though my brain would burst, if I could not relieve it by exhibiting the cause of my sorrows. If Biddy had not known so much I would not have told her any more. I had informed her in the beginning about the “pleasant surprise” I was preparing for my wife. She had seen Lilian when she called, and it was stupid in me to attempt to conceal anything from her. I explained to her the difficulty as far as I deemed it necessary. Biddy was my strongest friend, then. She would not have left me even to save her “charrackter.”