"I taught the girl," thought James within himself.
This honest silver-haired old fellow seemed so ridiculous to Colander,
the smooth, supercilious Londoner, that he deigned sometimes to converse
with James, in order to quiz him. This very morning they had had a
conversation.
"Poor Miss Mabel! dear heart. A twelvemonth married, and nigh six months
of it a widow, or next door."
"We write to her, James, and entertain her replies, which are at
considerable length."
"Ay, but we don't read 'em!" said James, with an uneasy glance at the
tray.
"Invariably, at our leisure; meantime we make ourselves happy among the
wits and the sirens."
"And she do make others happy among the poor and the ailing."
"Which shows," said Colander, superciliously, "the difference of tastes."
Burdock, whose eye had never been off his mistress's handwriting, at last
took it up and said: "Master Colander, do if ye please, sir, take this
into master's dressing-room, do now?"
Colander looked down on the missive with dilating eye. "Not a bill, James
Burdock," said he, reproachfully.
"A bill! bless ye, no. A letter from missus."
No, the dog would not take it in to his master; and poor James, with a
sigh, replaced it in the tray.
This James Burdock, then, was left in charge of the hall by Colander, and
it so happened that the change was hardly effected before a hurried
knocking came to the street door.
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