“He is greatly better, thank you. Hem!”
“My dear Louisa must be careful of that cough” remarked Miss Tox.
“It’s nothing,” returned Mrs Chick. “It’s merely change of weather. We must expect change.”
“Of weather?” asked Miss Tox, in her simplicity.
“Of everything,” returned Mrs Chick. “Of course we must. It’s a world of change. Anyone would surprise me very much, Lucretia, and would greatly alter my opinion of their understanding, if they attempted to contradict or evade what is so perfectly evident. Change!” exclaimed Mrs Chick, with severe philosophy. “Why, my gracious me, what is there that does not change! even the silkworm, who I am sure might be supposed not to trouble itself about such subjects, changes into all sorts of unexpected things continually.”
“My Louisa,” said the mild Miss Tox, “is ever happy in her illustrations.”
“You are so kind, Lucretia,” returned Mrs Chick, a little softened, “as to say so, and to think so, I believe. I hope neither of us may ever have any cause to lessen our opinion of the other, Lucretia.”
“I am sure of it,” returned Miss Tox.
Mrs Chick coughed as before, and drew lines on the carpet with the ivory end of her parasol. Miss Tox, who had experience of her fair friend, and knew that under the pressure of any slight fatigue or vexation she was prone to a discursive kind of irritability, availed herself of the pause, to change the subject.
“Pardon me, my dear Louisa,” said Miss Tox, “but have I caught sight of the manly form of Mr Chick in the carriage?”