human
If you please, Madam, when'll you be wanting your coach, think you?
gpt
My coach, Charity!
human
It's ready, Madam, said that damsel with much placidity.
gpt
He's only got to put the horses to, hasn't 'Zekiel, and they're at Tomkins' stable yon, by th' Tilt Yard--Spring Gardens, I reckon they call it.
human
Charity, lass, are you in your right senses, think you?
gpt
Well, Mrs Temperance, I reckon you'll be best judge o' that, said Charity coolly.
human
Seems to me I am: but that scarce makes sure, I count.
gpt
But, Charity!--what Ezekiel?
human
Ezekiel Cavell! Aunt Joyce's coachman! Where on earth has he come from?
gpt
Well, I rather think it was somewhere on earth, answered the calm Charity,
human
Is it possible? cried Edith.
gpt
Has dear Aunt Joyce sent her coach to carry down Mother home?
human
Nay, it's none hers, it's my Lady's, said Charity,
gpt
Charity, what have you been doing?
human
I've done nought, Mestur 'Ans, nobut carry a letter where it belonged, and serve 'Zekiel his four-hours.
gpt
A letter to whom, Charity? and who writ it?
human
To Mestur Marshall: and Mrs Joyce Morrell writ it--leastwise her man did, at her bidding.
gpt
What said it?
human
I didn't read it, Sir,
gpt
Come, I reckon you know what was in it, said Mr Lewthwaite.
human
Out with it, Charity.
gpt
Come forward into the room, Charity, and tell your tale like a man,
human
I amn't a man, Mrs Temperance, answered Charity, doing as she was bid:
gpt
Dear Aunt Joyce!
human
Make Ezekiel comfortable, Charity, said Lady Louvaine, as she drew off her glasses and wiped them: