She put a great deal of eau-de-Cologne on Mrs.Barton's pocket-handkerchief, rearranged her pillow and footstool, kissed her cheeks, wrapped her in a soft warm shawl from her own shoulders, and amused her with stories of the life she had seen abroad.
When Mr.Barton joined them she talked of Tractarianism, of her determination not to re-enter the vortex of fashionable life, and of her anxiety to see him in a sphere large enough for his talents.

Milly thought her sprightliness and affectionate warmth quite charming, and was very fond of her; while the Rev.Amos had a vague consciousness that he had risen into aristocratic life, and only associated with his middle-class parishioners in a pastoral and parenthetic manner.
However, as the days brightened, Milly's cheeks and lips brightened too; and in a few weeks she was almost as active as ever, though watchful eyes might have seen that activity was not easy to her.

Mrs.Hackit's eyes were of that kind, and one day, when Mr.and Mrs.Barton had been dining with her for the first time since Milly's illness, she observed to her husband--'That poor thing's dreadful weak an' delicate; she won't stan' havin' many more children.
Mr.Barton, meanwhile, had been indefatigable in his vocation.

He had preached two extemporary sermons every Sunday at the workhouse, where a room had been fitted up for divine service, pending the alterations in the church; and had walked the same evening to a cottage at one or other extremity of his parish to deliver another sermon, still more extemporary, in an atmosphere impregnated with spring-flowers and perspiration.

After all these labours you will easily conceive that he was considerably exhausted by half-past nine o'clock in the evening, and that a supper at a friendly parishioner's, with a glass, or even two glasses, of brandy-and-water after it, was a welcome reinforcement.