He is a
reassuring man, with a vigilant grey eye, and the power of saying
anything he likes to you without offence, because his tone always
implies that he does it with your kind permission. Withal by no
means servile: rather gallant and compassionate, but never
without a conscientious recognition, on public grounds, of social
distinctions. He is at the oak chest counting a pile of napkins.
Mrs Bridgenorth reads placidly: Collins counts: a blackbird sings
in the garden. Mrs Bridgenorth puts The Times down in her lap and
considers Collins for a moment.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Do you never feel nervous on these occasions,
Collins?
COLLINS. Lord bless you, no, maam. It would be a joke, after
marrying five of your daughters, if I was to get nervous over
marrying the last of them.
MRS BRIDGENORTH. I have always said you were a wonderful man,
Collins.
COLLINS [almost blushing] Oh, maam!
MRS BRIDGENORTH. Yes. I never could arrange anything--a wedding
or even dinner--without some hitch or other.
COLLINS. Why should you give yourself the trouble, maam? Send for
the greengrocer, maam: thats the secret of easy housekeeping.
Bless you, it's his business. It pays him and you, let alone the
pleasure in a house like this [Mrs Bridgenorth bows in
acknowledgment of the compliment].
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