′A glass of wine, my dear, and a biscuit, for she has had a long walk. She′ll sit with you, my soul, while I write a letter.′
Mrs Quilp looked tremblingly in her spouse′s face to know what this unusual courtesy might portend, and obedient to the summons she saw in his gesture, followed him into the next room.
′Mind what I say to you,′ whispered Quilp. ′See if you can get out of her anything about her grandfather, or what they do, or how they live, or what he tells her. I′ve my reasons for knowing, if I can. You women talk more freely to one another than you do to us, and you have a soft, mild way with you that′ll win upon her. Do you hear?′
′Yes, Quilp.′
′Go then. What′s the matter now?′
′Dear Quilp,′ faltered his wife. ′I love the child—if you could do without making me deceive her—′
The dwarf muttering a terrible oath looked round as if for some weapon with which to inflict condign punishment upon his disobedient wife. the submissive little woman hurriedly entreated him not to be angry, and promised to do as he bade her.
′Do you hear me,′ whispered Quilp, nipping and pinching her arm; ′worm yourself into her secrets; I know you can. I′m listening, recollect. If you′re not sharp enough, I′ll creak the door, and woe betide you if I have to creak it much. Go!′
Mrs Quilp departed according to order, and her amiable husband, ensconcing himself behind the partly opened door, and applying his ear close to it, began to listen with a face of great craftiness and attention.
Poor Mrs Quilp was thinking, however, in what manner to begin or what kind of inquiries she could make; and it was not until the door, creaking in a very urgent manner, warned her to proceed without further consideration, that the sound of her voice was heard.
′How very often you have come backwards and forwards lately to Mr Quilp, my dear.′
′I have said so to grandfather, a hundred times,′ returned Nell innocently.
′And what has he said to that?′
′Only sighed, and dropped his head, and seemed so sad and wretched that if you could have seen him I am sure you must have cried; you could not have helped it more than I, I know. How that door creaks!′
′It often does.′ returned Mrs Quilp, with an uneasy glance towards it. ′But your grandfather—he used not to be so wretched?′
′Oh, no!′ said the child eagerly, ′so different! We were once so happy and he so cheerful and contented! You cannot think what a sad change has fallen on us since.′
′I am very, very sorry, to hear you speak like this, my dear!′ said Mrs Quilp. And she spoke the truth.
′Thank you,′ returned the child, kissing her cheek, ′you are always kind to me, and it is a pleasure to talk to you. I can speak to no one else about him, but poor Kit. I am very happy still, I ought to feel happier perhaps than I do, but you cannot think how it grieves me sometimes to see him alter so.′
′He′ll alter again, Nelly,′ said Mrs Quilp, ′and be what he was before.′
′Oh, if God would only let that come about!′ said the child with streaming eyes; ′but it is a long time now, since he first began to—I thought I saw that door moving!′
′It′s the wind,′ said Mrs Quilp, fainly. ′Began to —-′
′To be so thoughtful and dejected, and to forget our old way ot spending the time in the long evenings,′ said the child.
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