'Nor my father' said the young lady. 'Nor,' she added, slightly smiling
with a quick perception of what the landlady was going to add, 'Nor my
uncle. We are not related.'
'Oh dear me!' returned the landlady, still more embarrassed than before;
'how could I be so very much mistaken; knowing, as anybody in their
proper senses might that when a gentleman is ill, he looks so much older
than he really is? That I should have called you "Miss," too, ma'am!'
But when she had proceeded thus far, she glanced involuntarily at the
third finger of the young lady's left hand, and faltered again; for
there was no ring upon it.
'When I told you we were not related,' said the other mildly, but not
without confusion on her own part, 'I meant not in any way. Not even by
marriage. Did you call me, Martin?'
'Call you?' cried the old man, looking quickly up, and hurriedly drawing
beneath the coverlet the paper on which he had been writing. 'No.'
She had moved a pace or two towards the bed, but stopped immediately,
and went no farther.
'No,' he repeated, with a petulant emphasis. 'Why do you ask me? If I
had called you, what need for such a question?'
'It was the creaking of the sign outside, sir, I dare say,' observed the
landlady; a suggestion by the way (as she felt a moment after she had
made it), not at all complimentary to the voice of the old gentleman.
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