“Well, ma’am,” returned Mr. Chillip, “we are⁠—we are progressing slowly, ma’am.”

“Ba⁠—a⁠—ah!” said my aunt, with a perfect shake on the contemptuous interjection. And corked herself as before.

Really⁠—really⁠—as Mr. Chillip told my mother, he was almost shocked; speaking in a professional point of view alone, he was almost shocked. But he sat and looked at her, notwithstanding, for nearly two hours, as she sat looking at the fire, until he was again called out. After another absence, he again returned.

“Well?” said my aunt, taking out the cotton on that side again.

“Well, ma’am,” returned Mr. Chillip, “we are⁠—we are progressing slowly, ma’am.”