Mrs. Vavasour, who sat by the
fire knitting, was a calm, silent, gentle-looking woman, with
smooth, fair hair under her lace cap, and those pathetic lines
we sometimes see in the faces of those who through
circumstances, or natural temperament, have achieved
contentment through the disappointments of life, rather than
through its fulfilled hopes. She was the mother of many
children, of whom the elder half was already dispersed--one was
married, one dead, one in India, and one at sea; of those
still at home, the eldest, Madge, an honest, sturdy, square-
faced child of eleven or twelve, was in the room now, handing
about tea-cups and bread-and-butter. Dr. Vavasour was a big,
white-haired man, many years older than his wife, who had
married him when she was only seventeen; he was a clever man,
and a popular doctor, and having just come in from a twenty
miles' drive through March winds and rain, was standing with
his back to the mantelpiece, with an air of having thoroughly
earned warmth and repose. He was discussing parish matters
with Mr. Morris the curate, who was sitting at the small round
table where Maria Leslie, a tall, rosy, good-humoured-looking
young woman of five or six-and-twenty, was pouring out the
tea.
Pages:
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519