She went to her
mother, and kissed her with more of affection than she had shown
to any one for weeks before; and the kiss was returned with warm
fondness.
"I think you love me, mother," said Jemima.
"We all love you, dear, if you would but think so. And if you
want anything, or wish for anything, only tell me, and with a
little patience, I can get your father to give it you, I know.
Only be happy, there's a good girl."
"Be happy! as if one could by an effort of will!" thought Jemima
as she went along the street, too absorbed in herself to notice
the bows of acquaintances and friends, but instinctively guiding
herself right among the throng and press of carts, and gigs, and
market people in High Street.
But her mother's tones and looks, with their comforting power,
remained longer in her recollection than the inconsistency of any
words spoken. When she had completed her errand about the frocks,
she asked to look at some bonnets, in order to show her
recognition of her mother's kind thought.
Mrs. Pearson was a smart, clever-looking woman of five or six and
thirty. She had all the variety of small-talk at her finger-ends,
that was formerly needed by barbers to amuse the people who came
to be shaved. She had admired the town till Jemima was weary of
its praises, sick and oppressed by its sameness, as she had been
these many weeks.
"Here are some bonnets, ma'am, that will be just the thing for
you--elegant and tasty, yet quite of the simple style, suitable
to young ladies.
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