Grandmamma
raised her face quickly, with a look of expectation--the door never
opened in those sad days without her heart beating faster with the hope
of possible tidings--but it as quickly faded again. Dymock had just the
same melancholy expression; he still walked on tiptoe, and spoke in a
muffled voice, as if he were entering a sick-room. This was his way of
showing his sympathy, which really was most deep and sincere But somehow
it provoked Grandmamma, who was, it must be confessed, _rather_ a
quick-tempered old lady at all times, and at present her nerves were of
course unusually irritated.
"Well, what is it, Dymock?" she said testily. "I wish you would not go
about like a mute at a funeral. You make me think I don't know what."
"Beg pardon, ma'am, I'm sure," said Dymock humbly, but still in the same
subdued way. He would not have taken offence just now at any remark of
Grandmamma's; but he could not help speaking to her with a sort of
respectful indulgence, as much as to say, "I know she can't help it,
poor old lady," which Grandmamma found exceedingly aggravating. "Beg
pardon. But it's Mrs. Twiss. If she could see you for a moment, ma'am?"
"Old Barbara!" exclaimed Grandmamma. "Is it possible that she--she is so
shrewd and sensible--can she have heard anything do you think, Dymock?"
But Dymock shook his head solemnly.
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