as well as those of Kellynch. The two families were so continually meeting,
so much in the habit of running in and out of each other's house
at all hours, that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone;
but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was almost
a matter of course. Though better endowed than the elder sister,
Mary had not Anne's understanding nor temper. While well, and happy,
and properly attended to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits;
but any indisposition sunk her completely. She had no resources
for solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliot
self-importance, was very prone to add to every other distress
that of fancying herself neglected and ill-used. In person, she was
inferior to both sisters, and had, even in her bloom, only reached
the dignity of being "a fine girl." She was now lying on the faded sofa
of the pretty little drawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which
had been gradually growing shabby, under the influence of four summers
and two children; and, on Anne's appearing, greeted her with--

"So, you are come at last! I began to think I should never see you.
I am so ill I can hardly speak. I have not seen a creature
the whole morning!"

"I am sorry to find you unwell," replied Anne. "You sent me
such a good account of yourself on Thursday!"

"Yes, I made the best of it; I always do: but I was very far from well
at the time; and I do not think I ever was so ill in my life
as I have been all this morning: very unfit to be left alone, I am sure.
Suppose I were to be seized of a sudden in some dreadful way,
and not able to ring the bell! So, Lady Russell would not get out.
I do not think she has been in this house three times this summer."