For her pretty back and
shoulders were rounded into a curve, her round and dimpled chin
reposed in the hollow of her little palm, while the fingers were
folded over her mouth; her elbow rested on a table, and her eyes
seemed fixed upon the dying charcoal, which was expiring in a small
grate. She scarce turned her head when Dame Ursula entered, and when
the presence of that estimable matron was more precisely announced in
words by the old Scotswoman, Mistress Margaret, without changing her
posture, muttered some sort of answer that was wholly unintelligible.
"Go your ways down to the kitchen with Wilsa, good Mistress Jenny,"
said Dame Ursula, who was used to all sorts of freaks, on the part of
her patients or clients, whichever they might be termed; "put the
stewpan and the porringer by the fireside, and go down below--I must
speak to my pretty love, Mistress Margaret, by myself--and there is
not a bachelor betwixt this and Bow but will envy me the privilege."
The attendants retired as directed, and Dame Ursula, having availed
herself of the embers of charcoal, to place her stewpan to the best
advantage, drew herself as close as she could to her patient, and
began in a low, soothing, and confidential tone of voice, to inquire
what ailed her pretty flower of neighbours.
"Nothing, dame," said Margaret somewhat pettishly, and changing her
posture so as rather to turn her back upon the kind inquirer.
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