We reached Manchester in the afternoon, and Robert went to see some old business friends to bid them good-bye, while Mother, I, and the children were thankful to lie down and sleep a little for we expected Jane to dinner, and I was anxious to have a pleasant evening with her. I had not seen her since her marriage, and I wondered what change it had made.
She was the same quiet, authoritative woman I remembered so well, and it being a warm evening she was dressed in a lilac muslin, which was very becoming to her. Her plentiful pale brown hair was neatly arranged; I am sure there was not one hair out of its proper place. I was glad she was not changed; above all I relished the rather advisory manner of “eldest sister” which she still retained. I would have been disappointed if Jane had not found something to counsel, or censure, or warn me about. She looked into my face with the kindest blue eyes, and remarked,
“You are still very pretty, Amelia, and quite young in appearance, too; almost too girlish for a married woman.”
I laughed a little and asked, “Did you expect marriage to make me ugly and old, Jane?”
“I have known it to do so.”
“Not in your case, any more than in mine,” I answered. “You are handsomer than I ever saw you.”
“Yes, I dare say that is so. I was worn out when I married. 141 Poor Father’s affliction is most trying on those who have to witness it, and assist him.”
“Alas!” I said, “Mother feels it much. She will not live long, unless she has some help.”
“Father will have no one but Mother near him. Men are selfish always, and particularly selfish when they are sick. Their wives have to be Providence to them. I pity you, Amelia.”
“What for, Jane?”