Her voice was not so hoarse.

She was mindful of this girl's former conduct at her master's bedside, and herself half believed her mad or guilty.

A suspicious imagination had Margaret Bean, and Madelon would have found in her a much readier belief than in others.
"I've got to see him, whether he's able or not," said Madelon.
"The doctor said--" "I'm going to see him!" Madelon pushed roughly in past the smooth apron and ran through the entry to Lot's room, with the housekeeper staring after her in a helpless ruffle of indignation.
"She's gone in there," she told her husband, who appeared in the kitchen door, dish-towel in hand.

Margaret Bean's husband always washed the dishes and performed all the irresponsible domestic duties of the establishment.

He was commonly adjudged not as smart as his wife, and little store was set by his counsels.