a pleasant disposition

                And, oh, how she loved her sister so, for being                 the true and utter personification of patience.

                                "Oh hush Jane, this is hardly your fault;                                         t’is the fault of the man who surely lacks in sense.”

     She takes interest in her sewing,         centering her attention on the movements         of her fingers rather than the insistence in her sister's face.

                  “Oh, very well then. What shall we discuss?                   Mother’s newest ideas or perhaps the logic                   behind a man abruptly leaving a woman he                   was so obviously and brazenly in love with.”

     She is the embodiment of patience.         Not even the softest of sighs dare pass her lips.

                           A tilt of her head belies her subtle concern.                 "Charlotte is well——luckily her sickness is most mild.                      Now, dear Jane, you must tell me what ails you.”

     ❝ Is that so? Mild or severe, there is little joy in catching cold. I should think Charlotte is grateful for those who call upon her while she is indisposed. ---- You should go and send my regards. ❞

        "I feel I must inform you that if that is         your way of being rid of me, your efforts shall not avail.”                       (They both knew Jane was her favorite, anyways.)

                             "Oh, Jane, I hardly meant any harm.”