And there she
stood, declaring herself exhilarated, while her nose and lips turned
from red to blue, and the tears ran down her cheeks. I always took to
flight. Afterwards the poor auto-martyr went out to walk before
breakfast, scornfully rejecting all offers of furs and extra
wrappings. O dear, no! _She_ never thought of muffs, tippets,
snow-boots, but as encumbrances fit for extreme old age and
infirmity. She always walked fast, and the more the wind blew, the
warmer she felt, I might be assured. As soon as she had gone, I
established myself in comfort by the side of a glowing grate, happy
but for dreading her return. She came in dreadfully fresh and breezy
from the outer air, very energetic, very noisy, and fully bent upon
stirring me up and making me take exercise. After snapping the door
open and slamming it behind her with a clap that greatly disturbed my
nerves, she exclaimed in a stentorian voice, "O dear me! I shall _die_
in such an oven! My dear child, you have no idea how hot it is!" And
the first thing I knew, up would go a window with a crash that made
the weights rattle. It might rain or shine; weather made no difference
to this inveterate air-seeker. Many a time has she come in all
dripping, and tracking the carpet, brushed carelessly against me with
her wet garments, and finally enveloped me with the steam arising from
them as they hung around my fire.
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