" The glass is brought,
Marston fills it, she bows, they drink to her and to the buoyant
spirits of the noble southern lady. "I don't admire the habit; but I
do like to please so," she whispers, and, excusing herself, skips
into the parlour on the right, where she is again beset by the old
servants, who rush to her, shake her hand, cling playfully to her
dress: some present various new-plucked flowers others are become
noisy with their chattering jargon. At length she is so beset with
the display of their affection as to be compelled to break away from
them, and call for Clotilda. "I must have Clotilda!" she says: "Tell
her to come soon, Dandy: she alone can arrange my dress." Thus
saying, she disappeared up a winding stair leading from the hall
into the second story.
We were anxious to know who Clotilda was, and why Franconia should
summon her with so much solicitude. Presently a door opened:
Franconia appeared at the top of the stairs, her face glowing with
vivacity, her hair dishevelled waving in beautiful confusion, giving
a fascination to her person. "I do wish she would come, I do!" she
mutters, resting her hands upon the banisters, and looking intently
into the passage: "she thinks more of fussing over Annette's hair,
than she does about taking care of mine. Well, I won't get cross-I
won't! Poor Clotilda, I do like her; I can't help it; it is no more
than natural that she should evince so much solicitude for her
child: we would do the same.
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