Kendal's walking into her
garden, with a perturbed countenance, begging her to help him to make
out what could be the meaning of a note which he had just received.
He was afraid that there was much amiss with the baby, and heartily
wished that he had not been persuaded to leave home; but poor Albinia
wrote in so much distress, that he could not understand her letter.
More accustomed to Albinia's epistolary habits, Winifred exclaimed at
the first glance, 'What can you mean? There is not one word of the
little one! It is only Sophy!'
The immediate clearing of his face was not complimentary to poor
Sophy, as he said, 'Can you be quite sure? I had begun to hope that
Albinia might at least have the comfort of seeing this little fellow
healthy; but let me see--she says nursed and--and danced--is it? this
poor child--'
'No, no; it is hunted and driven; that's the way she always _will_
make her _h_'s; besides, what nonsense the other would be.'
'This poor child--' repeated Mr. Kendal, 'Going up to London for
advice. She would hardly do that with Sophia.'
'Who ever heard of a baby of six months old having a spine
complaint?' cried Mrs. Ferrars almost angrily.
'I have lost one in that way,' he replied.
A dead silence ensued, till Winifred, to her great relief, spied the
feminine pronoun, but could not fully satisfy Mr. Kendal that the ups
and downs were insufficient for the word _him_; and each scrawl was
discussed as though it had been a cuneiform inscription, until he had
been nearly argued into believing in the lesser evil.
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