Bessie was in the dining-room, where the dinner was already spread, surrounded by her batch of self-willed unruly children. As she came forward to meet me, I saw that she looked tired and worn out, and that her dress was untidy and neglected. ‘It is so good of you to come, Dolly,’ was her greeting, ‘for I am so worried I don’t know what I should have done without you.’ ‘I am very glad to be of use, Bessie; but what worries you—the baby?’ ‘Dear me! no. It is something quite different. Why should baby worry me? He has his wet-nurse, and she takes him completely off my hands.’ ‘He is so pulled down,’ I said unhesitatingly, for I took an interest in my little godson. ‘I met him just now in the drive, and hardly recognised the child. Are you satisfied his nurse does him justice?’ ‘Oh, perfectly so. She is a most estimable young woman, so quiet and ladylike in her way of speaking. Did you notice her eyes? such a remarkable colour; and her hands are as white as yours or mine.’ ‘But the baby does not appear to be thriving. He can’t inherit her eyes or her hands, you know, and if he could, I don’t see that they would be much use to him. What’s her name? Where did you find her?’ ‘She’s a Mrs Graham; and she was recommended to me from the Lying-in Hospital at Chesterwick. I’m sorry you don’t think baby looks well. Perhaps the change has pulled him down a little, though I really can’t see it myself.’ I daresay she did not. Bessie is that sort of woman that never will see anything until it has actually occurred. If her children died, she would make as great a fuss over them—perhaps more—than mothers who have guarded theirs from their infancy upwards; yet she will let them eat improper food, and get damp feet, and remain out in the burning sun without any covering to their heads; and if you remonstrate with her, her invariable excuse is, that they have always done so before and got no harm. As if the fact of a wrong being permitted should make it a right; or because we have fallen from the top of a house once without injury, we may cast ourselves thence headlong each day without impunity. I really never did think, when Bessie and I were girls together, that she would turn out such a ninny. ‘What _has_ worried you then, since it is not the baby?’ I demanded presently. ‘Hush! I can’t tell you before the children. It’s an awful business, and I wouldn’t have them hear of it for worlds. Will you lay your bonnet aside, and have dinner with us as you are? or I’m afraid it may get cold. Lily—Charley—Tommy, lay down these toys, and come to the table at once. Put Bessie up on her high chair; and somebody go and call Annie. Ah! Dolly, my dear, how well you have kept your figure! What would I not give to be as slim and neat as you are.’