My dear, I was almost forgetting to tell you that we've had an affliction at the Mansion." "I'm very sorry," began Primrose.
"Yes, dear, and it's an affliction which is likely to continue, and to grow heavier.

It's poor Mrs.Mortlock, dear--I'm afraid she's losing her sight, and very troublesome she'll be, and a worry to us all when it's gone, for poor woman, she has a passion for politics that's almost past bearing.

Miss Slowcum and me, we take turns to read her the papers now, but though our throats ache, and we're as hoarse as ravens, we don't content her.

Mrs.Mortlock is looking out for what she is pleased to call a 'continual reader,' dear, and what I'm thinking is that perhaps you or your sister would like to try for the post--I believe you'd suit her fine, and she can pay well, for she's fairly made of money." Primrose colored.

To read to Mrs.Mortlock was about the last occupation she would have chosen, but the thought of the purse at home which was getting so sadly light, and the feeling that after all her efforts she might never do much in the china-painting line, caused her to reflect anxiously.
"May I think about it and let you know, Mrs.Dredge ?" "No, no, my dear, not by any means, for she has advertised, and they are pouring in.