Methodism is like enough to stand forever." In this conversation Mrs.Hatton had dropped easily and naturally into the Yorkshire speech, as all Yorkshire people do when heart-touched.

For Yorkshire is neither a dialect nor a patois; it is the pure English of a thousand years ago, the English Chaucer spoke, and which Yorkshire has preserved in all its purity--especially about the Craven district.

Mrs.
Hatton had gone through finishing schools of the latest fashion and she made no trips in her usual social conversation, unless deeply moved, but if a little Yorkshire was a fault, it was a very general one, and there was no interesting conversation without such lapses into English pure and undefiled and often startlingly picturesque and to the point.
When John had left her she took her herbs to the still room, laid them in their places, and removed the large white linen apron which covered her from head to feet.

Then she stood beautifully gowned in black satin with fine thread-lace cuffs turned back nearly to the elbows and a large collar of the same lace fastened at the throat with a brooch of gold and diamonds.

Her black hair was fashionably dressed and finished with a small cap of lace and pink ribbon, and her feet shod in black satin sandals--a splendid woman of fifty-three years old, showing every grace at its finest with as yet no sign of decay in any of them.
John gave her his arm proudly, but he noticed that her face clouded before she was seated.