left her the moment she faced
them, and she became exceedingly nervous. She was surprised at the
ease and grace of these shabbily-dressed ladies, and the refinement of
their surroundings--the design of the furniture, the colour of
curtains and carpet, the china, the books, the pictures, all of which
bespoke tastes and habits not common in the parish.

"I must apologise for this intrusion," she began nervously. "I have a
most unpleasant task to perform. My husband requested me to come----"

"Why didn't he come himself?" Beth asked blandly. "Why does he make
you do the disagreeable part of his duties?"

The vicar's wife raised her meek eyes and gazed at Beth. She had not
anticipated this sort of reception from poor parishioners, and was
completely nonplussed. She was startled, too, by Beth's last question,
for she belonged to the days of brave unhonoured endurance, when
women, meekly allowing themselves to be classed with children and
idiots, exacted no respect, and received none--no woman, decent or
otherwise, being safe from insult in the public streets; when they
were expected to do difficult and dirty work for their husbands, such
as canvassing at elections, without acknowledgment, their wit and
capacity being traded upon without scruple to obtain from men the
votes which they were not deemed wise and worthy enough to have
themselves; the days when they gave all and received nothing in
return, save doles of bread and contempt, varied by such caresses as a
good dog gets when his master is in the mood. That was the day before
woman began to question the wisdom and goodness of man, his justice
and generosity, his right to make a virtue of wallowing when he chose
to wallow, and his disinterestedness and discretion when he also
arrogated to himself the power to order all things. Mrs. Richardson
had no more thought of questioning the beauty of her husband's
decisions than she had thought of questioning the logic and mercy of
her God, and this first flash of the new spirit of inquiry from Beth's
bright wit came upon her with a shock at first--one of those shocks to
the mind which is as the strength of wine to the exhausted body, that
checks the breath a moment, then rouses and stimulates.

"May I sit down?" she gasped, then dropped into a chair. "He might
have come himself, to be sure," she muttered. "I have more than enough
to do that is disagreeable in my own womanly sphere without being
required to meddle in parish m