The things we do!

Warrington and--and I won't mention names, or pay compliments to a man
who knows human nature so well as the author of Walter Lorraine: this
house is pleasanter a thousand times than Musselburgh--pleasanter for me
and my dearest Rosey, whose delicate nature shrunk and withered up in
poor mamma's society. She was never happy except in my room, the dear
child! She's all gentleness and affection. She doesn't seem to show it:
but she has the most wonderful appreciation of wit, of genius, and talent
of all kinds. She always hides her feelings, except from her fond old
mother. I went up into our room yesterday, and found her in tears. I
can't bear to see her eyes red or to think of her suffering. I asked her
what ailed her, and kissed her. She is a tender plant, Mr. Pendennis!
Heaven knows with what care I have nurtured her! She looked up smiling on
my shoulder. She looked so pretty! 'Oh, mamma,' the darling child said,
'I couldn't help it. I have been crying over Walter Lorraine.


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