One morning, about the beginning of November, while I was inditing some business letters, shortly after breakfast, Eliza Millward came to call upon my sister.

Rose had neither the discrimination nor the virulence to regard the little demon as I did, and they still preserved their former intimacy.

At the moment of her arrival, however, there was no one in the room but Fergus and myself, my mother and sister being both of them absent, 'on household cares intent'; but I was not going to lay myself out for her amusement, whoever else might so incline: I merely honoured her with a careless salutation and a few words of course, and then went on with my writing, leaving my brother to be more polite if he chose.
But she wanted to tease me.
'What a pleasure it is to find you at home, Mr.Markham!' said she, with a disingenuously malicious smile.

'I so seldom see you now, for you never come to the vicarage.

Papa, is quite offended, I can tell you,' she added playfully, looking into my face with an impertinent laugh, as she seated herself, half beside and half before my desk, off the corner of the table.
'I have had a good deal to do of late,' said I, without looking up from my letter.
'Have you, indeed! Somebody said you had been strangely neglecting your business these last few months.' 'Somebody said wrong, for, these last two months especially, I have been particularly plodding and diligent.' 'Ah! well, there's nothing like active employment, I suppose, to console the afflicted;--and, excuse me, Mr.Markham, but you look so very far from well, and have been, by all accounts, so moody and thoughtful of late,--I could almost think you have some secret care preying on your spirits.