"As the mother of a family and the wife of an English clergyman, I

humbly trust that my principles are good," Mrs. Bute said, with a happy

solemnity of conviction; "and, as long as Nature supports me, never,

never, Mr. Clump, will I desert the post of duty. Others may bring

that grey head with sorrow to the bed of sickness (here Mrs. Bute,

waving her hand, pointed to one of old Miss Crawley's coffee-coloured

fronts, which was perched on a stand in the dressing-room), but I will

never quit it. Ah, Mr. Clump! I fear, I know, that the couch needs

spiritual as well as medical consolation."

"What I was going to observe, my dear Madam,"--here the resolute Clump

once more interposed with a bland air--"what I was going to observe

when you gave utterance to sentiments which do you so much honour, was

that I think you alarm yourself needlessly about our kind friend, and

sacrifice your own health too prodigally in her favour."

"I would lay down my life for my duty, or for any member of my

husband's family," Mrs. Bute interposed.

"Yes, Madam, if need were; but we don't want Mrs Bute Crawley to be a

martyr," Clump said gallantly. "Dr Squills and myself have both

considered Miss Crawley's case with every anxiety and care, as you may

suppose. We see her low-spirited and nervous; family events have

agitated her."

"Her nephew will come to perdition," Mrs. Crawley cried.

"Have agitated her: and you arrived like a guardian angel, my dear

Madam, a positive guardian angel, I assure you, to soothe her under the

pressure of calamity. But Dr. Squills and I were thinking that our

amiable friend is not in such a state as renders confinement to her bed

necessary. She is depressed, but this confinement perhaps adds to her

depression. She should have change, fresh air, gaiety; the most

delightful remedies in the pharmacopoeia," Mr. Clump said, grinning and

showing his handsome teeth. "Persuade her to rise, dear Madam; drag

her from her couch and her low spirits; insist upon her taking little

drives. They will restore the roses too to your cheeks, if I may so

speak to Mrs. Bute Crawley."

"The sight of her horrid nephew casually in the Park, where I am told

the wretch drives with the brazen partner of his crimes," Mrs. Bute

said (letting the cat of selfishness out of the bag of secrecy), "would

cause her such a shock, that we should have to bring her back to bed

again. She must not go out, Mr. Clump. She shall not go out as long

as I remain to watch over her; And as for my health, what matters it?

I give it cheerfully, sir. I sacrifice it at the altar of my duty."




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