May Fielding was already come; and so was her
mother -- a little querulous chip of an old lady with a
peevish face, who, in right of having preserved a
waist like a bedpost, was supposed to be a most tran-
scendent figure; and who, in consequence of having
once been better of, or of labouring under an impres-
sion that she might have been, if something had hap-
pened which never did happen, and seemed to have
never been particularly likely to come to pass -- but
it's all the same -- was very genteel and patronising
indeed. Gruff and Tackleton was also there, doing
the agreeable, with the evident sensation of being as
perfectly at home, and as unquestionably in his own
element, as a fresh young salmon on the top of the
Great Pyramid.
'May! My dear old friend!' cried Dot, running
up to meet her. 'What a happiness to see you.'
Her old friend was, to the full, as hearty and as
glad as she; and it really was, if you'll believe me,
quite a pleasant sight to see them embrace. Tackle-
ton was a man of taste, beyond all question. May
was very pretty.
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