“How is my father, sir?” Grafton cried, “and why was I not informed at once of his illness? I must see him.”
“Your vater can see no one, Mr. Carvel,” said the doctor, quietly.
“What,” says my uncle, “you dare to refuse me?”
“Not so lout, I bray you,” says the doctor; “I tare any ting vere life is concerned.”
“But I will see him,” says Grafton, in a sort of helpless rage, for the doctor's manner baffled him. “I will see him before he dies, and no man alive shall say me nay.”
Then my Aunt Caroline gathered up her skirt, and made shift to pass the doctor.
“I have come to nurse him,” said she, imperiously, and, turning to where I stood near, she added: “Bid a servant fetch from York Street what I shall have need of.”
The doctor smiled, but stood firm. He cared little for aught in heaven or earth, did Dr. Leiden, and nothing whatever for Mr. and Mrs. Grafton Carvel.
“I peg you, matam, do not disturp yourself,” said he. “Mr. Carvel is aply attended by an excellent voman, Mrs. Villis, and he has no neet of you.”
“What,” cried my aunt; “this is too much, sir, that I am thrust out of my father-in-law's house, and my place taken by a menial. That woman able!” she fumed, dropping suddenly her cloak of dignity; “Mr. Carvel's charity is all that keeps her here.”