"
"But it was not merely beautiful; it was sweet-looking and good,
Mrs. Postlethwaite called you," replied Jemima.
"All the more I would rather not hear it. I may be pretty, but I
know I am not good. Besides, I don't think we ought to hear what
is said of us behind our backs."
Ruth spoke so gravely, that Jemima feared lest she was
displeased.
"Dear Mrs. Denbigh, I never will admire or praise you again. Only
let me love you."
"And let me love you!" said Ruth, with a tender kiss.
Jemima would not have been allowed to come so frequently if Mr.
Bradshaw had not been possessed with the idea of patronising
Ruth. If the latter had chosen, she might have gone dressed from
head to foot in the presents which he wished to make her, but she
refused them constantly; occasionally to Miss Benson's great
annoyance. But if he could not load her with gifts, he could show
his approbation by asking her to his house; and after some
deliberation, she consented to accompany Mr. and Miss Benson
there. The house was square and massy-looking, with a great deal
of drab-colour about the furniture. Mrs. Bradshaw, in her
lackadaisical, sweet-tempered way, seconded her husband in his
desire of being kind to Ruth; and as she cherished privately a
great taste for what was beautiful or interesting, as opposed to
her husband's love of the purely useful, this taste of hers had
rarely had so healthy and true a mode of gratification as when
she watched Ruth's movements about the room, which seemed in its
unobtrusiveness and poverty of colour to receive the requisite
ornament of light and splendour from Ruth's presence.
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