nt
of Wildfell Hall would wholly disregard the common observances of
civilized life,--in which opinion she was supported by the Wilsons, who
testified that neither their call nor the Millwards' had been returned as
yet. Now, however, the cause of that omission was explained, though not
entirely to the satisfaction of Rose. Mrs. Graham had brought her child
with her, and on my mother's expressing surprise that he could walk so
far, she replied,--'It is a long walk for him; but I must have either
taken him with me, or relinquished the visit altogether; for I never
leave him alone; and I think, Mrs. Markham, I must beg you to make my
excuses to the Millwards and Mrs. Wilson, when you see them, as I fear I
cannot do myself the pleasure of calling upon them till my little Arthur
is able to accompany me.'

'But you have a servant,' said Rose; 'could you not leave him with her?'

'She has her own occupations to attend to; and besides, she is too old to
run after a child, and he is too mercurial to be tied to an elderly
woman.'

'But you left him to come to church.'

'Yes, once; but I would not have left him for any other purpose; and I
think, in future, I must contrive to bring him with me, or stay at home.'

'Is he so mischievous?' asked my mother, considerably shocked.

'No,' replied the lady, sadly smiling, as she stroked the wavy locks of
her son, who was seated on a low stool at her feet; 'but he is my only
treasure, and I am his only friend: so we don't like to be separated.'

'But, my dear, I call that doting,' said my plain-spoken parent. 'You
should try to suppress such foolish fondness, as well to save your son
from ruin as yourself from ridicule.'

'Ruin! Mrs. Markham!'

'Yes; it is spoiling the child. Even at his age, he ought not to be
always tied to his mother's apron-string; he should learn to be ashamed
of it.'

'Mrs. Markham, I beg you will not say such things, in his presence, at
least. I trust my son will never be ashamed to love his mother!' said
Mrs. Graham, with a serious energy that startled the company.

My mother attempted to appease her by an explanation; but she seemed to
think enough had been said on the subject, and abruptly turned the
conversation.

'Just as I thought,' said I to myself: 'the lady's temper is none of the
mildest, notwithstanding her sweet, pale face and lofty brow, where
thought and suffering seem equally to have stamped their impress.'

All this time I was s