“It's the way I heerd her talking that shows me,” replied the other. “Whenever she 's really about to leave a place she goes into them fits of laughing and crying and screaming one minute, and a-whimpering the next; and then she tells the people--as it were, unknownst to her--how she hated them all,--how stingy they was,--the shameful way they starved the servants, and such-like. There's some as won't let her into their houses by reason of them fits, for she'll plump out everything she knows of a family,--who ran away with the Misses, and why the second daughter went over to France.” “You know her better than me, Breggis.” “I do think I does; it's eight years I 've had of it. Eh, what's that,--was n't that a screech?” and as he spoke a wild shrill scream resounded through the house, followed by a rapid succession of notes that might either have been laughter or crying. Sewell drew the curtain; and wheeling an arm-chair to the fireside, lit his cigar, and began to smoke. The house was so small that the noises could be heard easily in every part of it; and for a time the rapid passage of persons overhead, and the voices of many speaking together, could be detected, and, above these, a wild shriek would now and then rise above all, and ring through the house. Sewell smoked on undisturbed; it was not easy to say that he so much as heard these sounds. His indolent attitude, and his seeming enjoyment of his cigar, indicated perfect composure; nor even when the door opened, and his wife entered the room, did he turn his head to see who it was. “Can William have the pony to go into town?” asked she, in a half-submissive voice. “For what?” “To tell Dr. Tobin to come out; Lady Trafford is taken ill.” “He can go on foot; I may want the pony.” “She is alarmingly ill, I fear,--very violent spasms; and I don't think there is any time to be lost.” “Nobody that makes such a row as that can be in any real danger.” “She is in great pain, at all events.” “Send one of her own people,--despatch one of the postboys,--do what you like, only don't bore _me_.” She was turning to leave the room, when he called out, “I say, when the attack came on did she take the opportunity to tell you any pleasant little facts about yourself or your family?” She smiled faintly, and moved towards the door. “Can't you tell me, ma'am? Has this woman been condoling with you over your hard fate and your bad husband? or has she discovered how that 'dear boy' upstairs broke his head as well as his heart in your service?” “She did ask me certainly if there was n't a great friendship between you and her son,” said she, with a tone of quiet disdain. “And what did you reply?” said he, throwing one leg over the arm of the chair as he swung round to face her. “I don't well remember. I may have said _you_ liked _him_, or that _he_ liked _you_. It was such a commonplace reply I made, I forget it.” “And was that all that passed on the subject?”