"No, sir."

"Oh! I daresay she is crying because she could not go out with
Missis in the carriage," interposed Bessie.

"Surely not! why, she is too old for such pettishness."

I thought so too; and my self-esteem being wounded by the false
charge, I answered promptly, "I never cried for such a thing in
my life: I hate going out in the carriage. I cry because I am
miserable."

"Oh fie, Miss!" said Bessie.

The good apothecary appeared a little puzzled. I was standing
before him; he fixed his eyes on me very steadily: his eyes were
small and grey; not very bright, but I dare say I should think them
shrewd now: he had a hard-featured yet good-natured looking
face. Having considered me at leisure, he said -

"What made you ill yesterday?"

"She had a fall," said Bessie, again putting in her word.

"Fall! why, that is like a baby again! Can't she manage to walk
at her age? She must be eight or nine years old."

"I was knocked down," was the blunt explanation, jerked out of me
by another pang of mortified pride; "but that did not make me ill,"
I added; while Mr. Lloyd helped himself to a pinch of snuff.