"I can help myself." "If your ladyship will allow me," he said deferentially.
She sat down, conscious of a physical weakness she could not control.

And the old butler, quiet and courteous and very grave, proceeded to make the tea and wait upon her in silence.
Anne lay back in her chair with her eyes upon the fire, and accepted his ministrations without further speech.

There was a very thorough understanding between herself and Dimsdale, an understanding established and maintained without words.
The tea revived her, and after a little she turned her head and looked up at him.
"Well, Dimsdale ?" Dimsdale coughed.

"It was about Sir Giles that I wanted to speak to your ladyship." "Well ?" she said again.
"Sir Giles, my lady, is not himself--not at all himself," Dimsdale told her cautiously.

"I was wondering just before you came in if I didn't ought to send for the doctor." "Why, Dimsdale ?" Anne looked straight up into the old man's troubled face, but her eyes had a strangely aloof expression, as though the matter scarcely touched her.
Dimsdale shook his head.