At this juncture I suppose Mrs. Prior must have entered the apartment, for though I could not hear her noiseless step, her little cracked voice came pretty clearly to me with a “Good afternoon, Mr. Bedford! O dear me! what a many—many years we have been acquainted. To think of the pretty little printer’s boy who used to come to Mr. Batchelor, and see you grown such a fine man!”
Bedford. “How? I’m only five foot four.”
Mrs. P. “But such a fine figure, Bedford! You are—now indeed you are! Well, you are strong and I am weak. You are well, and I am weary and faint.”
Bedford. “The tea’s a-coming directly, Mrs. Prior.”
Mrs. P. “Could you give me a glass of water first—and perhaps a little sherry in it, please. Oh, thank you. How good it is! How it revives a poor old wretch!—And your cough, Bedford? How is your cough? I have brought you some lozenges for it—some of Sir Henry Halford’s own prescribing for my dear husband, and——”
Bedford (abruptly). “I must go—never mind the cough now, Mrs. P.”
Mrs. Prior. “What’s here? almonds and raisins, macaroons, preserved apricots, biscuits for dessert—and—la bless the man! how you sta—artled me!”
Bedford. “Dont! Mrs. Prior: I beg and implore of you, keep your ’ands out of the dessert. I can’t stand it. I must tell the governor if this game goes on.”
Mrs. P. “Ah! Mr. Bedford, it is for my poor—poor child at home: the doctor recommended her apricots. Ay, indeed, dear Bedford; he did, for her poor chest!”