In the afternoon, to my surprise, Mrs. Pevensey’s elegant carriage stopped at my little garden-gate, and Mrs. Pevensey herself came in. She was charming with smiles and good-nature; and, in her delicate silver-grey silk, rich velvet, and blush roses, looked so youthful, that one could hardly suppose her the mother of seven children. She has a well-stored mind, ready wit, or rather, playfulness, good judgment, and everything that contributes to make a delightful companion. As a wife she is admirable, living on the most affectionate terms with a husband who is considered by most people rather hard to please; she has formed extensive plans for ameliorating the condition of the poor, which she is carrying out with great success; and, as a neighbour, she is most thoughtful and kind—as I have good reason to know.
She brought her own entertainment with her; for her conversation was an almost uninterrupted flow of what she had done, whom she had seen, where she had been, interspersed with remarks full of good feeling and good sense. I must say that, to an invalid, this continuous flow is sometimes more fatiguing than if the communications were more reciprocal and broken up. The mind is kept on the full stretch; the eyes gaze on the speaker till they ache, and even the bodily posture becomes wearisome; yet I am sure the kind friend always goes away thinking, in the goodness of her heart, “Well, I have amused her nicely, and given her a good many things to think about,” which is true, too, though they have been purchased rather dearly.
It was only after Mrs. Pevensey had told me a multiplicity of things, and was going away, that I found the opportunity of telling her how glad I had been to see her children quite recovered from the effects of the measles.
“Yes,” said she, with a motherly smile, “they all look well—all, at least, except poor Arbell; and she—” (Here she gave a little shrug, like Mademoiselle, as much as to say, “Something is not quite straight in that quarter.”)
“I told Arbell I wished she might be permitted to spend an hour or two with me some morning,” said I. “If I have more than one companion at a time, I can hardly do them or myself justice.”
“I am sure I wish she would come,” said Mrs. Pevensey, smiling sweetly.
“With your permission, I think she will,” said I. “May I claim it?”
“Ah, I shall be too happy,” said she; “but you don’t know Arbell.”
“Suppose, then, we say to-morrow,” said I, pertinaciously.
“To-morrow the hair-cutter is coming. Any other day.”