“You haven’t come here to make a lot of difficulties?” she asked. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. Sorry. When I told them I was going to your house today, my dad told me to either ask for lessons or bring my violin to give to you permanently since I was not ever going to use it. ” “You shouldn’t have made an engagement until you’d consulted your aunt. I’ll be ready in a moment.
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