"
"No, I have not; for you would think it absurd coming from one who
looks like him. He says that if he were to write a poem about
womanhood, he would make you the heroine."
"With a cream-jug in my hand, or else sewing buttons on to a
shirt-collar. But he never forgave me about the mutton broth. He told
me, in so many words, that I was a--story-teller. And for the matter
of that, my dear, so I was."
"He told me that you were an angel."
"Goodness gracious!"
"A ministering angel. And so you have been. I can almost feel it in
my heart to be glad that I have been ill, seeing that I have had you
for my friend."
"But you might have had that good fortune without the fever."
"No, I should not. In my married life I have made no friends till my
illness brought you to me; nor should I ever really have known you
but for that. How should I get to know any one?"
"You will now, Mrs. Crawley; will you not? Promise that you will. You
will come to us at Framley when you are well? You have promised
already, you know."
"You made me do so when I was too weak to refuse."
"And I shall make you keep your promise, too. He shall come, also,
if he likes; but you shall come whether he likes or no. And I won't
hear a word about your old dresses.
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