"_Mysteriously_ polite, I call it," said Mrs. Lindsay. "She seems more and more to lose sight of herself, in a desire to make others happy; yet before we left the city she often offended me by her disregard of fashionable etiquette." "Yet Emma never was offensive in her manners, mamma," said Martha. "She was truly beloved, I know it, dear," replied the lady; "but her great truthfulness kept me in constant jeopardy. Just think of her telling Madam Richards that people considered her too old to dance." "Well, it _was_ a shame," answered the first speaker, "for a lady of such excellent qualities to make herself ridiculous by a single foible." "So Emma thought," said Mrs. Lindsay, "and had the frankness to tell her so. It turned out well enough in her case, it is true; for she told me when I went to apologize, that Emma had shown so much heartfelt interest and concern in the matter of her being a public laughing-stock, that she was obliged not only to forgive, but to love her the better for what I called a rudeness. But," continued Mrs. Lindsay, "singular as she is, I would give worlds to have her----" Here the lady paused, and Martha said quickly, "She is better, mother. She sleeps very well now, and her night-sweats are not so profuse." The mother made no answer. It was not because Martha's hopeful words were unheeded, but because mournful memories were at work in her heart; and to avoid further conversation she arose and left the room. "Mamma will look upon the dark side," said Martha, "but _I_ am much encouraged. Our physician says, that rambling about in the country, running in the fields and woods, climbing fences and trees, if she is disposed, will do wonders for Emma: and I believe it; for how wonderfully she has improved during these three months--so full of life, and so full of interest in everybody."