Sperano, the Italian exile, banished even from France,
where he had long resided, and now teaching Italian with meek
diligence in the northern city; there was Mr. Preston, the
Westmoreland squire, or, as he preferred to be called, statesman,
whose wife had come to Edinburgh for the education of their numerous
family, and who, whenever her husband had come over on one of his
occasional visits, was only too glad to accompany him to Mrs.
Dawson's Monday evenings, he and the invalid lady having been friends
from long ago. These and ourselves kept steady visitors, and enjoyed
ourselves all the more from having the more of Mrs. Dawson's society.
One evening I had brought the little stool close to her sofa, and was
caressing her thin white hand, when the thought came into my head and
out I spoke it.
"Tell me, dear Mrs. Dawson," said I, "how long you have been in
Edinburgh; you do not speak Scotch, and Mr. Dawson says he is not
Scotch."
"No, I am Lancashire--Liverpool-born," said she, smiling. "Don't you
hear it in my broad tongue?"
"I hear something different to other people, but I like it because it
is just you; is that Lancashire?"
"I dare say it is; for, though I am sure Lady Ludlow took pains
enough to correct me in my younger days, I never could get rightly
over the accent.
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