On this occasion Mr. Bygrave was at home, and she was admitted without the least difficulty.
Careful consideration that morning had decided Captain Wragge on advancing matters a little nearer to the crisis. The means by which he proposed achieving this result made it necessary for him to see the housekeeper and her master separately, and to set them at variance by producing two totally opposite impressions relating to himself on their minds. Mrs. Lecount’s visit, therefore, instead of causing him any embarrassment, was the most welcome occurrence he could have wished for. He received her in the parlor with a marked restraint of manner for which she was quite unprepared. His ingratiating smile was gone, and an impenetrable solemnity of countenance appeared in its stead.
“I have ventured to intrude on you, sir,” said Mrs. Lecount, “to express the regret with which both my master and I have heard of Miss Bygrave’s illness. Is there no improvement?”
“No, ma’am,” replied the captain, as briefly as possible. “My niece is no better.”
“I have had some experience, Mr. Bygrave, in nursing. If I could be of any use—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lecount. There is no necessity for our taking advantage of your kindness.”
This plain answer was followed by a moment’s silence. The housekeeper felt some little perplexity. What had become of Mr. Bygrave’s elaborate courtesy, and Mr. Bygrave’s many words? Did he want to offend her? If he did, Mrs. Lecount then and there determined that he should not gain his object.
“May I inquire the nature of the illness?” she persisted. “It is not connected, I hope, with our excursion to Dunwich?”
“I regret to say, ma’am,” replied the captain, “it began with that neuralgic attack in the carriage.”
“So! so!” thought Mrs. Lecount. “He doesn’t even try to make me think the illness a real one; he throws off the mask at starting.—Is it a nervous illness, sir?” she added, aloud.