But that dear Mrs. Dawson! The mention of her comes into my mind
like the bright sunshine into our dingy little drawing room came on
those days;--as a sweet scent of violets greets the sorrowful passer
among the woodlands.

Mrs. Dawson was not Mr. Dawson's wife, for he was a bachelor. She
was his crippled sister, an old maid, who had, what she called, taken
her brevet rank.

After we had been about a fortnight in Edinburgh, Mr. Dawson said, in
a sort of half doubtful manner to Miss Duncan -

"My sister bids me say, that every Monday evening a few friends come
in to sit round her sofa for an hour or so,--some before going to
gayer parties--and that if you and Miss Greatorex would like a little
change, she would only be too glad to see you. Any time from seven
to eight to-night; and I must add my injunctions, both for her sake,
and for that of my little patient's, here, that you leave at nine
o'clock. After all, I do not know if you will care to come; but
Margaret bade me ask you;" and he glanced up suspiciously and sharply
at us. If either of us had felt the slightest reluctance, however
well disguised by manner, to accept this invitation, I am sure he
would have at once detected our feelings, and withdrawn it; so
jealous and chary was he of anything pertaining to the appreciation
of this beloved sister.

But if it had been to spend an evening at the dentist's, I believe I
should have welcomed the invitation, so weary was I of the monotony
of the nights in our lodgings; and as for Miss Duncan, an invitation
to tea was of itself a pure and unmixed honour, and one to be