For the first week or so, Mrs. Bolton, however, was very quiet at Wragby; her assured, bossy manner left her, and she was nervous. With Clifford she was shy, almost frightened, and silent. He liked that, and soon recovered his self-possession, letting her do things for him without even noticing her.
“She’s a useful nonentity!” he said. Connie opened her eyes in wonder, but did not contradict him. So different are impressions on two different people!
And he soon became rather superb, somewhat lordly with the nurse. She had rather expected it, and he played up without knowing. So susceptible we are to what is expected of us! The colliers had been so like children, talking to her, and telling her what hurt them, while she bandaged them, or nursed them. They had always made her feel so grand, almost superhuman in her administrations. Now Clifford made her feel small, and like a servant, and she accepted it without a word, adjusting herself to the upper classes.
She came very mute, with her long, handsome face, and downcast eyes, to administer to him. And she said very humbly: “Shall I do this now, Sir Clifford? Shall I do that?”
“No, leave it for a time, I’ll have it done later.”
“Very well, Sir Clifford.”
“Come in again in half an hour.”
“Very well, Sir Clifford.”
“And just take those old papers out, will you?”
“Very well, Sir Clifford.”