“What a good voice you have, Bedford,” I say; “I heard you warbling just now—a famous bass, on my word!”
“Always fond of music—sing when I’m cleaning my plate—learned in Old Beak Street. She used to teach me,” and he points towards the upper floors.
“What a little chap you were then!—when you came for my proofs for the Museum,” I remark.
“I ain’t a very big one now, sir; but it ain’t the big ones that do the best work,” remarks the butler.
“I remember Miss Prior saying that you were as old as she was.”
“Hm! and I scarce came up to her—eh—elbow.” (Bedford had constantly to do battle with the aspirates. He conquered them, but you could see there was a struggle.)
“And it was Miss Prior taught you to sing?” I say, looking him full in the face.
He dropped his eyes—he could not bear my scrutiny. I knew the whole story now.
“When Mrs. Lovel died at Naples, Miss Prior brought home the children, and you acted as courier to the whole party?”