‘Miss Charlecote hushed it down,’ said Phœbe; ‘and, indeed, nobody could be with her and think that she needed rousing to religious thoughts.’
‘By this attempt on Honor, I fear she has not succeeded with Lolly, whom poor Owen used to call an Eastern woman with no soul.’
‘She does everything for Mrs. Charteris—dresses her, works for her—I do believe cooks for her. They live a strange, rambling life.’
‘I have heard Lolly plays as deeply as Charles, does not she? All Castle Blanch mortgaged—would be sold, but that Uncle Kit is in the entail! It breaks one’s heart to hear it! They all live on generous old Ratia, I suppose.’
‘I believe she pays the bills when they move. We were told that it was a beautiful thing to see how patiently and resolutely she goes on bearing with them and helping them, always in hopes that at last they may turn to better things.’
Lucy was much touched. ‘Poor Rashe!’ she said; ‘there was something great in her. I have a great mind to write to her.’
They diverged into other subjects, but every minute she became more open and confidential; and as the guarded reserve
wore off, Phœbe contrived to lead to the question of her spirits and health, and obtained a fuller answer.
‘Till you try, Phœbe, you can’t guess the wear of living with minds that have got nothing in them but what you have put in yourself. There seems to be a fur growing over one’s intellects for want of something to rub against.’
‘Miss Fennimore must often have felt that with us.’