Aunt Becky looked steadfastly from the window for a while, and then
sailed majestically toward the door, which the little ensign, with an
humble and somewhat frightened countenance, hastened to open.
'Pray, Sir, don't let me trouble you,' said Aunt Becky, in her high,
cold way.
'Madam, 'tis no trouble--it would be a happiness to me, Madam, to serve
you in any way you would permit; but _'tis_ a trouble to me, Madam,
indeed, that you leave the room, and a greater trouble,' said little
Puddock, waxing fluent as he proceeded, 'that I have incurred your
displeasure--indeed, Madam, I know not how--your goodness to me, Madam,
in my sickness, I never can forget.'
'You _can_ forget, Sir--you _have_ forgot. Though, indeed, Sir, there
was little to remember, I--I'm glad you thought me kind, Sir. I--I wish
you well, Sir,' said Aunt Becky. She was looking down and a little pale,
and in her accents something hurried and almost sad. 'And as for my
displeasure, Sir, who said I was displeased? And if I were, what could
my displeasure be to you? No, Sir,' she went on almost fiercely, and
with a little stamp on the floor, 'you don't care; and why should
you?--you've proved it--you don't, Lieutenant Puddock, and you _never_
did.
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