.

My Aunt Ablewhite is a large, silent, fair-complexioned woman, with one
noteworthy point in her character. From the hour of her birth she has
never been known to do anything for herself. She has gone through life,
accepting everybody's help, and adopting everybody's opinions. A
more hopeless person, in a spiritual point of view, I have never met
with--there is absolutely, in this perplexing case, no obstructive
material to work upon. Aunt Ablewhite would listen to the Grand Lama of
Thibet exactly as she listens to Me, and would reflect his views quite
as readily as she reflects mine. She found the furnished house at
Brighton by stopping at an hotel in London, composing herself on a
sofa, and sending for her son. She discovered the necessary servants
by breakfasting in bed one morning (still at the hotel), and giving her
maid a holiday on condition that the girl "would begin enjoying herself
by fetching Miss Clack." I found her placidly fanning herself in her
dressing-gown at eleven o'clock. "Drusilla, dear, I want some servants.
You are so clever--please get them for me." I looked round the untidy
room. The church-bells were going for a week-day service; they suggested
a word of affectionate remonstrance on my part. "Oh, aunt!" I said
sadly. "Is THIS worthy of a Christian Englishwoman? Is the passage from
time to eternity to be made in THIS manner?" My aunt answered, "I'll put
on my gown, Drusilla, if you will be kind enough to help me." What was
to be said after that? I have done wonders with murderesses--I have
never advanced an inch with Aunt Ablewhite. "Where is the list," I
asked, "of the servants whom you require?" My aunt shook her head; she
hadn't even energy enough to keep the list. "Rachel has got it, dear,"
she said, "in the next room." I went into the next room, and so saw
Rachel again for the first time since we had parted in Montagu Square.

She looked pitiably small and thin in her deep mourning. If I attached
any serious importance to such a perishable trifle as personal
appearance, I might be inclined to add that hers was one of those
unfortunate complexions which always suffer when not relieved by a
border of white next the skin. But what are our complexions and our
looks? Hindrances and pitfalls, dear girls, which beset us on our way
to higher things! Greatly to my surprise, Rachel rose when I entered the
room, and came forward to meet me with outstretched hand.

"I am glad to see you," she said.