Poor Mr. Buxton! What a sad life for a
merry, light-hearted man to have such a wife! It was a good thing for him
to have agreeable society sometimes. She thought he looked a deal better
for seeing his friends. He must be sadly moped with that sickly wife.
(If she had been clairvoyante at that moment, she might have seen Mr.
Buxton tenderly chafing his wife's hands, and feeling in his innermost soul
a wonder how one so saint-like could ever have learnt to love such a boor
as he was; it was the wonderful mysterious blessing of his life. So little
do we know of the inner truths of the households, where we come and go like
intimate guests!)
Maggie could not bear to hear Mrs. Buxton spoken of as a fine lady assuming
illness. Her heart beat hard as she spoke. "Mamma! I am sure she is really
ill. Her lips kept going so white; and her hand was so burning hot all the
time that I held it."
"Have you been holding Mrs. Buxton's hand? Where were your manners? You are
a little forward creature, and ever were. But don't pretend to know better
than your elders. It is no use telling me Mrs. Buxton is ill, and she able
to bear the noise of children."
"I think they are all a pack of set-up people, and that Frank Buxton is the
worst of all," said Edward.
Maggie's heart sank within her to hear this cold, unkind way of talking
over the friends who had done so much to make their day happy.
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