“Yes, that I am, Bedford; and she shan’t go, shall she?” cries the boy.
But Bessy stooped down sadly, and kissed him. “Yes, I must, dear,” she said.
“Don’t touch him! Come away, sir! Come away from her this moment!” shrieked the two mothers.
“I nursed him through the scarlet fever, when his own mother would not come near him,” says Elizabeth, gently.
“I’m blest if she didn’t,” sobs Bedford—“and—bub—bub—bless you, Master Pop!”
“That child is wicked enough, and headstrong enough, and rude enough already!” exclaims Lady Baker. “I desire, young woman, you will not pollute him farther!”
“That’s a hard word to say to an honest woman, ma’am,” says Bedford.
“Pray, miss, are you engaged to the butler, too?” hisses out the dowager.
“There’s very little the matter with Maxwell’s child—only teeth. What on earth has happened? My dear Lizzy—my dear Miss Prior—what is it?” cries the doctor, who enters from the garden at this juncture.