her a cup of tea, would
pull up her blind to a certain height, and would remark, "A fine
morning, ma'am," or "A dull morning," as the case might be. At eleven
o'clock, wet or dry, she would sally forth into the town to do the light
part of her marketing and cast a thoughtful eye on the price of
vegetables; after which, girt with a large linen apron, and her head
protected by a mob-cap, she would proceed to dust and wash her cherished
china. From much loneliness she had formed a habit of talking quietly
to herself during these operations; but no one could have understood
her, for she only uttered the fag-ends of her thoughts aloud.

The Chinese mandarin which Nancy admired was the object of Miss Unity's
fondest care; some bygone association was doubtless connected with him,
for she seldom failed to utter some husky little sentences of endearment
while she lingered over his grotesque person with tender touches of her
feather brush. So the day went on. After her dinner, if the weather
were fair, she would perhaps deck herself with a black silk mantilla and
a tall bonnet with nodding flowers, and go out to visit some old friend.
A muffin, a cup of tea, and perhaps a little cathedral gossip would
follow; and then Miss Unity, stepping primly across the Close, reached
the dull shelter of her own home again, and was alone for the rest of
the evening. At ten o'clock she read prayers to Bridget and the little
maid, and so to bed.

The even course of these days was only disturbed twice in the year--once
by Mr and Mrs Hawthorn's visit to Nearminster, and once by Miss
Unity's visit to Easney. These were important events to her,
anticipated for months, not exactly with pleasure; for, though she was
really fond of her friends, she was shy, and to be put out of her usual
habits was, besides, a positive torture to her. Then there were the
children! Troublesome little riddles Miss Unity often found them,
impossible to understand; and it is a question whether she or they were
the more uncomfortable when they were together. For she had an idea,
gathered from some dim recollection of the past, that children needed
constant correction and reproof; and she felt sure Mary Hawthorn
neglected her duty in this respect, and was over-indulgent. So, being a
most conscientious woman, she tried to supply this shortcoming, and the
result was not a happy one.

She was ill at ease with all the children, but of Dickie she was fairly
frightene