CHAPTER VII.
MRS NEWMAN'S DREAM.
Notwithstanding the great difference which both circumstances and disposition made, even so early, in their ways of looking at the rights and duties of their sex, and the consequent want of communion between them on all the highest human interests, Lesbia was undoubtedly tenderly fond of her mother, and could not be at ease when anything, however slight, was amiss with her. And so when, on arriving home that afternoon, she hurried to her mother’s room with the pup in her arms, she was startled to find Mrs Newman sitting on the sofa with her hands fallen by her sides, gazing abstractedly out of window, and looking very pale and unwell.
‘I’ve got my prize, mamma—but gracious! what is the matter with you?—has anything happened?’
‘No, Lesbia dear, nothing particular. Why?’
‘Because you look so pale and ill! Why didn’t you send a messenger to fetch us back at once?’
‘There was no need, dearest. I have been a little out of sorts, it’s true; but I feel better already: now that you are with me, and all right.’
‘And all right! Why, mamma, what made you imagine I was not all right? You knew I was with Uncle Spines, and where we were gone.’
