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In August, of 1669, she had written one of the most pathetic of her poems: Aug: 31, 69. As weary pilgrim now at rest, Hugs with delight his silent nest His wasted limbes now lye full soft That myrie steps have trodden oft. Blesses himself to think upon his dangers past, and travails done. The burning sun no more shall heat Nor stormy raines on him shall beat.
The health of the children had greatly improved; the famous air had agreed with them, and the discovery of new playfellows had agreed with them. They had made acquaintance with Lady Myrie's well-bred boys, and with Mrs. Norman's charming little Kitty. The most cordial good-feeling had established itself among the mothers. Owing a return for hospitalities received from Lady Myrie and Mrs.
And if by adversity I had fell downe in any dirty or myrie place, when he should have pulled me out either with ropes, or lifted me up by the taile, he would never helpe me, but lay me on from top to toe with a mighty staffe, till he had left no haire on all my body, no not so much as on mine eares, whereby I was compelled by force of blowes to stand up.
"Yes and I hope I have made a friend for life," Mrs. Romsey said with enthusiasm. "And so do I," Lady Myrie added. Mr. Romsey went on with his inquiries. "Is she a handsome woman?" Both the ladies answered the question together. Lady Myrie described Mrs. Norman, in one dreadful word, as "Classical." By comparison with this, Mrs. Romsey's reply was intelligible.
Norman, Mrs. Romsey had invited the two ladies to drink tea with her in honor of an interesting domestic event. Her husband, absent on the Continent for some time past, on business connected with his firm, had returned to England, and had that evening joined his wife and children at Sandyseal. Lady Myrie had arrived, and Mr. Romsey had been presented to her. Mrs.
"Surely the poor lady is to be pitied?" she gently suggested. Lady Myrie looked at her friend in astonishment. "My dear, you must have forgotten what the judge said about her. Surely you read the report of the case in the newspapers?" "No; I heard of the trial, and that's all. What did the judge say?" "Say?" Lady Myrie repeated. "What did he not say!
"Of course your girls mustn't go. Daughters! Think of their reputations when they grow up!" "Are you in the same scrape with my wife?" Mr. Romsey asked. Lady Myrie corrected his language. "I have been deceived in the same way," she said. I do nothing myself in an underhand way. No excuses! I shall send a note and tell Mrs. Norman why she doesn't see my boys to-morrow."
"Another young hussy gone wrong?" Kitty turned to her mother with a look of alarm. "What's a hussy?" she asked. "Does grandmamma mean me?" The great hotel clock in the hall struck two, and the child's anxieties took a new direction. "Isn't it time my little friends came to see me?" she said. It was half an hour past the time. Catherine proposed to send to Lady Myrie and Mrs.
The old lady has been twice married. Her name is Mrs. Presty." This settled the question. Mrs. Presty was established, in her own proper person, with her daughter and grandchild at the hotel. Lady Myrie yielded to the force of evidence; she lifted her hands in horror: "This is too dreadful!" Mrs. Romsey took a more compassionate view of the disclosure.
"Not even illness can spoil her beauty!" "Including the headache she has got to-night?" Mr. Romsey suggested. "Don't be ill-natured, dear! Mrs. Norman is here by the advice of one of the first physicians in London; she has suffered under serious troubles, poor thing." Mr. Romsey persisted in being ill-natured. "Connected with her husband?" he asked. Lady Myrie entered a protest.
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