The mothers embarrassed her, they seemed to expect conversation, and this was even the case with the children; she could just smile at them, however, and be silent. It was among the babies she shone, not, indeed, in her mode of holding them—she did that with her fingers, delicately, as if they were pens—but she got so eager over them, so full of interest, asked so many anxious questions as to their appetites, and gave such amazing hints concerning their management that she made an impression on the village such as astonished the oldest inhabitant, and set the women’s tongues wagging at a rate to surprise even their husbands.
It was an event, an epoch-making day in the village of Waring, when the squire’s wife stepped in bodily presence in and out of its houses, and disseminated useful knowledge concerning the human infant.
When Gwen heard of it, in the same letter that told her to send her mother a sketch of herself without delay, she laughed sarcastically.
“This is dishonest of Mrs. Fellowes!” she cried with a little stamp, “how dare she make all this fresh phase of lunacy into a pathetic story? There is a ring of false sentiment through the whole business.”
END OF VOL. II.
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