With all her
faults I had always rather liked Christina. She would have chopped
Ernest or anyone else into little pieces of mincemeat to gratify the
slightest wish of her husband, but she would not have chopped him up
for anyone 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; anyone 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. Everyone 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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