On this Dorothea betrayed a certain embarrassment, rather a painful blush tinged her soft cheek. "I would not have taken the liberty to hint at such a thing," she answered.
"She would not have liked it," thought Justina, with not unnatural surprise; for Dorothea had shown a fondness for her.
"But of course I know there has been an idea in the neighbourhood that you——"
"That I what?" asked Justina.
"Why that you might—you might undertake it."
"Oh, nonsense, dear! nonsense, all talk," said Justina; "don't believe a word of it." Her tone seemed to mean just the contrary, and Dorothea looked doubtful.
"There have been some attentions, certainly," continued Justina, turning before the glass as if to observe whether her scarf was folded to her mind. "Of course every one must have observed that! But really, dear, such a thing"—she put up her large steady hand, and fastened her veil with due care—"such a thing as that would never do. Who could have put it into your head to think of it?"
"She does not care for him in the least, then," thought Dorothea; "and it seems that he has cared for her. I don't think he does now, for he seemed rather pleased to sketch out that tour which will take her away from him. I like her, but even if it was base to her, I should still be glad she was not going to marry John Mortimer."
Justina was in many respects a pleasant woman. She was a good daughter, she had a very good temper, serene, never peevish; she did not forget what was due to others, she was reasonable, and, on the whole, just. She felt what a pity it was that Mr. Mortimer was so unwise. She regretted this with a sincerity not disturbed by any misgiving. Taking the deepest interest in herself, as every way worthy and desirable, she did for herself what she could, and really felt as if this was both a privilege and a duty. Something like the glow of a satisfied conscience filled her mind when she reflected that to this end she had worked, and left nothing undone, just as such a feeling rises in some minds on so reflecting about efforts made for another person. But with all her foibles, old people liked her, and her own sex liked her, for she was a comfortable person to be with; one whose good points attracted regard, and whose faults were remarkably well concealed.
With that last speech she bowled herself out of the imaginary game of ninepins, and the next stroke was made by Dorothea.