With all her faults I had
always rather liked Christina. She would have chopped Ernest or any one
else into little pieces of mincemeat to gratify the slightest wish of her
husband, but she would not have chopped him up for any one else, and so
long as he did not cross her she was very fond of him. By nature she was
of an even temper, more willing to be pleased than ruffled, very ready to
do a good-natured action, provided it did not cost her much exertion, nor
involve expense to Theobald. Her own little purse did not matter; any
one might have as much of that as he or she could get after she had
reserved what was absolutely necessary for her dress. I could not hear
of her end as Ernest described it to me without feeling very
compassionate towards her, indeed her own son could hardly have felt more
so; I at once, therefore, consented to go down to the funeral; perhaps I
was also influenced by a desire to see Charlotte and Joey, in whom I felt
interested on hearing what my godson had told me.
I found Theobald looking remarkably well. Every one said he was bearing
it so beautifully. He did indeed once or twice shake his head and say
that his wife had been the comfort and mainstay of his life for over
thirty years, but there the matter ended.
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