"As to that," she returned, "people differ."
The children were brought down. She admired little Ernest, as everybody does, but only glanced at the baby.
"What a sickly-looking little thing!" she said. "But this boy is a splendid fellow! Ah, if mine had lived he would have been just such a child! But some people have all the trouble and others all the comfort. I am, sure I don't know what I have done that I should have to lose my only boy, and have nothing left but girls. To be sure, I can afford to dress them elegantly, and as soon as they get old enough I mean to have them taught all sorts of accomplishments. You can't imagine what a relief it is to have plenty of money!"
"Indeed I can't!" I said; "it is quite beyond the reach of my imagination."
"My uncle—that is to say Charley's uncle-has just given me a carriage and horses for my own use. In fact, he heaps everything upon me. Where do you go to church?"
I told her, reminding her that Dr. Cabot was its pastor.
"Oh, I forgot! Poor Dr. Cabot! Is he as old-fashioned as ever?"
"I don't know what you mean," I cried. "He is as good as ever, if not better. His health is very delicate, and that one thing seems to be a blessing to him."
"A blessing! Why, Kate Mortimer! Kate Elliott, I mean. It is a blessing I, for one, am very willing to dispense with. But you always did say queer things. Well, I dare say Dr. Cabot is very good and all that, but his church is not a fashionable one, and Charley and I go to Dr. Bellamy's. That is, I go once a day, pretty regularly, and Charley goes when he feels like it. Good-by. I must go now; I have all my fall shopping to do. Have you done yours? Suppose you jump into the carriage and go with me? You can't imagine how it passes away the morning to drive from shop to shop looking over the new goods."
"There seem to be a number of things I can't imagine," I replied, dryly. "You must excuse me this morning."