"_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.