Too Long; Didn't Read

“Bear up, brave heart! we will be calm and strong;Sure, we can master eyes, or cheek, or tongue,Nor let the smallest tell-tale sign appearShe ever was, and is, and will be dear.”Rhyming Play. It was a hot summer’s evening. Edith came into Margaret’s bed-room, the first time in her habit, the second ready dressed for dinner. No one was there at first; the next time Edith found Dixon laying out Margaret’s dress on the bed; but no Margaret. Edith remained to fidget about. “Oh, Dixon! not those horrid blue flowers to that dead gold-coloured gown. What taste! Wait a minute, and I will bring you some pomegranate blossoms.” “It’s not a dead gold-colour ma’am. It’s a straw-colour. And blue always goes with straw-colour.” But Edith had brought the brilliant scarlet flowers before Dixon had got half through her remonstrance. “Where is Miss Hale?” asked Edith, as soon as she had tried the effect of the garniture. “I can’t think,” she went on, pettishly, “how my aunt allowed her to get into such rambling habits in Milton! I’m sure I’m always expecting to hear of her having met with something horrible among all those wretched places she pokes herself into. I should never dare to go down some of those streets without a servant. They’re not fit for ladies.” Dixon was still huffed about her despised taste; so she replied rather shortly: “It’s no wonder to my mind, when I hear ladies talk such a deal about ladies—and when they’re such fearful, delicate, dainty ladies too—I say it’s no wonder to me that there are no longer any saints on earth——” “Oh, Margaret! here you are! I have been so wanting you. But how your cheeks are flushed with the heat, poor child! But only think what that tiresome Henry has done; really, he exceeds brother-in-law’s limits. Just when my party was made up so beautifully—fitted in so precisely for Mr. Colthurst—there has Henry come, with an apology it is true, and making use of your name for an excuse, and asked me if he may bring that Mr. Thornton of Milton—your tenant, you know—who is in London about some law business. It will spoil my number, quite.” “I don’t mind dinner. I don’t want any,” said Margaret, in a low voice. “Dixon can get me a cup of tea here, and I will be in the drawing-room by the time you come up. I shall really be glad to lie down.”