It is quite cold by now.' And, she hurried them in, leaving them to superintend the preparations for supper downstairs while she ran up to her mother.
A quarter of an hour afterward they were all gathered round the supper-table, the windows open to the garden and the May twilight.

At Catherine's right hand sat Mrs.Leyburn, a tall delicate-looking woman, wrapped in a white shawl, about whom there were only three things to be noticed--an amiable temper, a sufficient amount of weak health to excuse her all the more tiresome duties of life, and an incorrigible tendency to sing the praises of her daughters at all times and to all people.

The daughters winced under it: Catherine, because it was a positive pain to her to bear herself brought forward and talked about; the others, because youth infinitely prefers to make its own points in its own way.
Nothing, however, could mend this defect of Mrs.Leyburn's.

Catherine's strength of will could keep it in check sometimes, but in general it had to be borne with.

A sharp word would have silenced the mother's well-meant chatter at any time--for she was a fragile nervous woman, entirely dependent on her surroundings--but none of them were capable of it, and their mere refractoriness counted for nothing.
The dining room in which they were gathered had a good deal of homely dignity, and was to the Leyburns full of associations.