Willie meant this for an uncommonly severe cut; for Miss Deemas sat at the end of the sofa, near the window!
Fortunately, at this point, Matty Merryon ushered in Loo Auberly, who was instantly enfolded in Miss Tippet’s arms, and thence transferred to Emma’s, in which she was led to the sofa, and gently deposited in the softest corner.
“Darling Loo!” exclaimed Miss Tippet, with tears in her eyes; “you look so thin and pale.”
There could be no doubt on that point. Little Loo, as Emma styled her, was worn to a shadow by sickness, which had hitherto baffled the doctor’s skill. But she was a beautiful shadow; such a sweet, gentle shadow, that one might feel thankful, rather than otherwise, to be haunted by it.
“Pray don’t mind me; I’m too tired to speak to you yet; just go on talking. I like to listen,” said Loo softly.
With ready kindness, Miss Tippet at once sought to draw attention from the child, by reverting to Mrs Denman; and Matty created a little opportune confusion by stumbling into the room with the tea.
Matty usually tripped over the carpet at the door, and never seemed to become wiser from experience.
“Poor Mrs Denman,” said Miss Tippet, pouring out the tea; “it must have been an awful shock; think of a (Sugar, brother? I always forget), what was I—oh, yes; think of a fireman seizing one round the (Cream, Willie? I know you have a sweet tooth, so I don’t need to ask if you take sugar)—yes, he carried her down that dreadful what-d’ye-call-it, and into the next house with nothing (A little more sugar, Julia? No? )—nothing on but her what’s-’is-name. Oh! it was sad; sad to lose all her fine things, too—her furniture, and—and thingumies. Do try a piece of cake, brother.”
“I know a worse case than hers,” said Willie, with a knowing look.
“Do you?” exclaimed Miss Tippet.