t, to
be chatting with her visitor, who exerted herself to the utmost to make
herself agreeable. The talk was at first confined to the ostensible
subject of Mrs. Porson's visit; but after that was satisfactorily
arranged the conversation turned to Marsden and the neighborhood. Many
people had called upon Mrs. Porson, and as all of them were more or less
known to Mrs. Mulready, her visitor asked her many questions concerning
them, and the invalid was soon gossiping cheerfully over the family
histories and personal peculiarities of her neighbors.

"You have done me a world of good," she said when Mrs. Porson rose to
leave. "I never see any one but the doctor, and he is the worst person
in the world for a gossip. He ought to know everything, but somehow he
seems to know nothing. You will come again, won't you? It will be a real
kindness, and you have taken so much interest in my daughter that it
quite seems to me as if you were an old friend."

And so the visit was repeated: but not too often, for Mrs. Porson knew
that it was better that her patient should wait and long for her coming,
and now that the ice was once broken, Mrs. Mulready soon came to look
forward with eagerness to these changes in her monotonous existence.

For some time Ned's name was never mentioned between them. Then one day
Mrs. Porson, in a careless manner, as if she had no idea whatever of the
state of the relations between mother and son, mentioned that Ned had
been at their house the previous evening, saying: "My husband has
a wonderful liking and respect for your son; they are the greatest
friends, though of course there is a good deal of difference in age
between them. I don't know any one of whom John thinks so highly."

Mrs. Mulready turned very pale, and then in a constrained voice said:
"Mr. Porson has always been very kind to my sons."

Then she sighed deeply and changed the subject of conversation.

"Your wife is doing my patient a great deal more good than I have ever
been able to do," Dr. Green said one day to the schoolmaster. "She has
become quite a different woman in the last five or six weeks. She is
always up and on the sofa now when I call, and I notice that she begins
to take pains with her dress again; and that, you know, is always a
first rate sign with a woman. I think she would be able to go downstairs
again soon, were it not for her feeling about Ned. She would not meet
him, I am sure. You don't see any signs of a change i