"Don't go yet, child," said the old lady; "perhaps you may be ill again."
"No: pray don't go yet," said Lady Meredith, who all this time had been holding a smelling bottle to her own nose, affecting to be too much overcome to do any thing for the relief of her visitor. "You have frightened me enormously; stay a little to make me amends; besides, you still tremble and look pale: are you subject to these faintings?"
"Not in the least," said Ellen. "I believe the heat of the room overcame me."
"No wonder," said the old lady; "it is a perfect stove, and enough to unstring the nerves of Hercules, especially when aided by the powerful scent of those abominable jars."
"Oh, my dear sweet jars," cried Lady Meredith; "now positively you shall not abuse them; any thing else you may find what fault you please with, but my sweet jars I cannot give up:—have you ever read Anna Seward's poetical recipe to make one?"
"Not I," replied her friend in an angry tone, "nor ever desire it; all the poetry in the world should never induce me to fill my rooms with such nonsense."
During this conversation, the little girl, who had tired herself with looking at the jewels and trinkets, rose from her cushion, and said:—
"Pretty mamma, dress pretty Miranda in these," holding up some fine emeralds.
"No indeed, child: go to Colonel Lenox, and ask him to adorn you; I cannot take so much trouble."
"No, Miranda won't; Miranda go to pretty, sweet, beautiful lady;" and she went to Ellen, who, admiring the lovely little creature, kissed her, and indulged her by putting the shining ornaments round her little fair neck and arms, and twisting some in the ringlets of her glossy hair.