s, and
never say a word, I am sure I don't know how she does it. I am all
feeling! These things touch me so keenly. But Jane's just like a
stone. Well, good evening, my dear, if you must go. I think you might
have come a little sooner, and you might come oftener, if you would.
But that is always my lot, to be neglected and despised--a poor, lonely,
ugly old maid, that nobody cares for. And it wasn't my fault, I am
sure; I never chose such a fate. I cannot think why such afflictions
have been sent me. I am sure I am no worse than other people. Clarissa
is a great deal vainer than I am; and Jane is ever so much harder; and
as to Dorothy, why, 'tis misery to see her--she is so cheerful and full
of mirth, and she has not a thing to be content with--it quite hurts me
to see anyone like that. But people are so wanting in feeling! I am
sure--"

"Go, if you want," said Mrs Jane, shortly, holding the door open.

"Oh, yes, go! Of course you want to go!" lamented Mrs Marcella. "What
pleasure can there be to a bright young maid like you, to sit with a
poor, sick, miserable creature like me? Dear, dear! And only to
think--"

Rhoda escaped. Phoebe followed, more slowly. Mrs Jane came out after
them, and shut the door behind them.

"She's in pain, this evening," said the last-named person in her usual
blunt style. "Some folks can bear pain, and some can't. And those that
can must beat with those that can't. She'll be better of letting it out
a bit. Good evening."

"Oh, isn't it dreadful!" said Rhoda, when they were out of the gate. "I
just hate going to see Mrs Marcella, especially when she takes one of
her complaining fits. If I were Mrs Jane, I should let her have it out
by herself. But she is hard, rather--she doesn't care as I should."

But Phoebe thought that a mistake. She had noticed the drawn brow of
the silent sister, while the sufferer was detailing her string of
troubles, and the sudden quiver of the under lip, when allusion was made
to the eight of whom the family had once consisted: and Phoebe's
deduction was, not that Jane Talbot bore no burden, but that she kept it
out of sight. Perhaps that very characteristic bluntness of her manner
denoted a tight curb kept upon her spirit.

Rhoda had noticed nothing of all this. Herself a surface character, she
could not see below the surface in another.

The Wednesday evening came, and with it Sir Richard Delawarr's coach,
conveying his two youn