"And forgot the stomach of your unspiritual father. But, my dear, you are pale, you tremble."
"'T is nothing, sir: I shall soon be better. Sit you down and sup: I will return anon."
She retired, not to make a fuss; but her heart palpitated violently, and she had to sit down on the stairs.
Ryder, who was prowling about, found her there, and fetched her hartshorn.
Mrs. Gaunt got better; but felt so languid, and also hysterical, that she retired to her own room for the night, attended by the faithful Ryder, to whom she confided that a reconciliation had taken place, and, to celebrate it, gave her a dress she had only worn a year. This does not sound queenly to you ladies; but know that a week's wear tells far more on the flimsy trash you wear now-a-days, than a year did on the glorious silks of Lyons Mrs. Gaunt put on; thick as broadcloth, and embroidered so cunningly by the loom, that it would pass for rarest needle-work. Besides, in those days, silk was silk.
As Ryder left her, she asked, "Where is master to lie to-night?"
Mrs. Gaunt was not pleased at this question being put to her. She would have preferred to leave that to Griffith. And, as she was a singular mixture of frankness and finesse, I believe she had retired to her own room partly to test Griffith's heart. If he was as sincere as she was, he would not be content with a public reconciliation.
But the question being put to her plump, and by one of her own sex, she colored faintly, and said, "Why, is there not a bed in his room?"
"O yes, madam."
"Then see it be well aired. Put down all the things before the fire; and then tell me: I'll come and see. The feather-bed, mind, as well as the sheets and blankets."