Claire went softly out of the room, and the old woman sat up coughing and muttering.

“Worrying me for money, indeed—a dipperty-dapperty dancing-master! I won’t pay him a penny.”

Here there was a fit of coughing that made the fringe dance till the old woman recovered, wiped her eyes, and shook her skinny hand at the fringe for quivering.

“Doctor? Yes, they’d better. What do I want with a doctor? Let them get one for old Lyddy—wants one worse than I do, ever so much. Oh, there you are, miss. Is that beef-tea strong?”

“Yes, Lady Teigne, very strong.”

Claire placed a tray, covered with a white napkin, before her, and took the cover from the white china soup-basin, beside which was a plate of toast cut up into dice.

The old woman sniffed at a spoonful.

“How much cognac did you put in?”

“A full wine-glass, Lady Teigne.”

“Then it’s poor brandy.”

“No, Lady Teigne; it is the best French.”

“Chut! Don’t talk to me, child. I know what brandy is.”

She threw some of the sippets in, and began tasting the broth in an unpleasant way, mumbling between the spoonfuls.

“I knew what brandy was before you were born, and shall go on drinking it after you are dead, I dare say. There, I shan’t have any more. Give it to that hungry boy of yours. He looks as if he wanted it.”

Claire could not forbear a smile, for the old woman had not left half a dozen spoonfuls at the bottom of the basin.

“Look here. Come up at two o’clock and dress me. I shall have a good many visitors to-day, and mind this: don’t you ever hint at sending up Eliza again, or I’ll go and take apartments somewhere else. We’re getting proud, I suppose?”

There was a jingle of the china on the tray as the old woman threw herself down, and then a mumbling, followed by a fit of coughing, which soon subsided, and lastly there was nothing visible but the great cap-border, and a few straggling white hairs.

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