Seated in the only free chair in the room—­free from litter—­was a tall, stout lady.  But that she had so much crimson about her, she would have borne a remarkable resemblance to those two young men, her sons.  She wore a silk dress, gold in one light, green in another, with broad crimson stripes running across it; her cap was of white lace garnished with crimson ribbons, and her cheeks and nose were crimson to match.  As if this were not enough, she wore crimson streamers at her wrists, and a crimson bow on the front of her gown.  Had you been outside, you might have seen that the burnished gold on the window-panes had turned to crimson, for the setting sun had changed its hue:  but the panes could not look more brightly, deeply crimson, than did Mrs. Verner.  It seemed as if you might light a match at her face.  In that particular, there was a contrast between her and the perfectly pale, sallow faces of her sons; otherwise the resemblance was great.

“Fred,” said Mrs. Verner, “I wish you would see what they are at with the shirts and things.  I sent Rachel after them, but she does not come back, and then I sent Mary Tynn, and she does not come.  Here’s John as impatient as he can be.”

She spoke in a slow, somewhat indifferent tone, as if she did not care to put herself out of the way about it.  Indeed it was not Mrs. Verner’s custom to put herself out of the way for anything.  She liked to eat, drink, and sleep in undisturbed peace; and she generally did so.

“John’s impatient because he wants to get it over,” spoke up that gentleman himself in a merry voice.  “Fifty thousand things I have to do, between now and to-morrow night.  If they don’t bring the clothes soon, I shall close the boxes without them, and leave them a legacy for Fred.”

“You have only yourself to thank, John,” said his mother.  “You never gave the things out until after breakfast this morning, and then required them to be done by the afternoon.  Such nonsense, to say they had grown yellow in the drawers!  They’ll be yellower by the time you get there.  It is just like you! driving off everything till the last moment.  You have known you were going for some days past.”

John was stamping upon a box to get down the lid, and did not attend to the reproach.  “See if it will lock, Fred, will you?” said he.

Frederick Massingbird stooped and essayed to turn the key.  And just then Mrs. Tynn entered with a tray of clean linen, which she set down.  Rachel followed, having a contrivance in her hand, made of silk, for the holding of needles, threads, and pins, all in one.

She looked positively beautiful as she held it out before Mrs. Verner.  The evening rays fell upon her exquisite face, with its soft, dark eyes and its changing colour; they fell upon her silk dress, a relic of Mrs. Verner’s—­but it had no crimson stripes across it; upon her lace collar, upon the little edge of lace at her wrists.  Nature had certainly intended Rachel for a lady, with her graceful form, her charming manners, and her delicate hands.