ABSTRACT
The young countess, waving every form of state which might have proved inconvenient in a sick family, walked down to the parsonage, to bid farewell to her maternal friend, as she constantly styled the respectable sufferer. She came just at the time when Mrs. Evans was going to rise, and, claiming admittance with the privilege of long-established intimacy, employed herself in airing the good lady’s shawl; while Lucy was busily engaged in assisting her mother / to dress, and in fixing her easy chair in a proper situation. Mrs. Evans looked at her noble guest with a tender smile. ‘I perceive, my dearest lady Monteith,’ said she, ‘that there is no alteration in your character. Your goodness and amiable vivacity has suffered no diminution from the reserve of rank or the etiquette of dignity; and see the effect it has upon us. We can consider you in no other light than that of our old friend. I admit you to a sick chamber, and treat you with a little groaning, while Lucy finds you some employment, as if you were still the playful Geraldine whom I had used alternately to correct and idolize. Do you remember dressing my cat in a blue jacket and trows-ers, teaching it to walk upright, and protesting that it was the very image of your cousin Henry; and afterwards, / when you saw him crying at the comparison, giving him the new gold watch your father had just bought you, by way of consolation?’
