He paused to inquire from the
journeyman, still at work in the shop; learning that Richard Holland was
not at home, he passed impatiently to the kitchen beyond. Ann Holland
was just closing the door of her little parlor, and David Chantrey
approached her, hardly able to control the agitation he felt.
"I saw my wife step in here," he said, holding out his hand to her, but
attempting to pass her and to open the door before which she still
stood. She could not speak for a moment, but she kept her post firmly in
opposition to him.
"My wife is here?" he asked, in a sharp impetuous tone.
"Yes; oh yes!" cried Ann Holland; "but wait a moment, Mr. Chantrey. Oh,
wait a little while. Don't go in and see her yet."
"Why not?" he asked again, a sudden terror taking hold of him.
"Sit down a minute or two, sir," she answered. "Mrs. Chantrey's ill,
just ailing a little. She is not prepared to meet you just yet. You were
not expected before to-morrow, and she's excited; she hardly knows what
she's saying or doing. You'd better not speak to her or see her till
she's recovered herself a little.
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