son, Miss Murray took good care to provide sufficient employment for all my leisure hours. There was always some drawing to finish, some music to copy, or some work to do, sufficient to incapacitate me from indulging in anything beyond a short walk about the grounds, however she or her sister might be occupied.
One morning, having sought and waylaid Mr. Weston, they returned in high glee to give me an account of their interview.
"And he asked after you again," said Matilda, in spite of her sister's silent, but imperative intimation that she should hold her tongue. "He wondered why you were never with us, and thought you must have delicate health as you came out so seldom."
"He didn't, Matilda—what nonsense you're talking!"
"Oh, Rosalie, what a lie! He did, you know; and you said—Don't, Rosalie—hang it!—I won't be pinched so! And, Miss Grey, Rosalie told him you were quite well, but you were always so buried in your books that you had had no pleasure in anything else."
"What an idea he must have of me!" I thought.
