When one’s brain is no stronger than mine is, one gets very much confused in disentangling motives and nice points of character.  I have doubted whether Madam Liberality’s besetting virtue were a virtue at all.  Was it unselfishness or a love of approbation, benevolence or fussiness, the gift of sympathy or the lust of power?  Or was it something else?  She was a very sickly child, with much pain to bear, and many pleasures to forego.  Was it, as doctors say, “an effort of nature,” to make her live outside herself and be happy in the happiness of others?

Equal doubt may hang over the conduct of her brothers and sister towards her.  Did they more love her, or find her useful?  Was their gratitude—­as gratitude has been defined to be—­“a keen sense of favours to come”?  They certainly got used to her services, and to begging and borrowing the few things that were her “very own,” without fear of refusal.  But if they rather took her benevolence for granted, and thought that she “liked lending her things,” and that it was her way of enjoying possessions, they may have been right; for next to one’s own soul, one’s own family is perhaps the best judge of one’s temper and disposition.

And they called her Madam Liberality, so Madam Liberality she shall remain.

It has been hinted that there was a reason for the scarceness of the plums in the plum-cake.  Madam Liberality’s father was dead, and her mother was very poor, and had several children.  It was not an easy matter with her to find bread for the family, putting currants and raisins out of the question.

Though poor, they were, however, gentle-folk, and had, for that matter, rich relations.  Very rich relations indeed!  Madam Liberality’s mother’s first cousin had fifteen thousand a year.  His servants did not spend ten thousand. (As to what he spent himself, it was comparatively trifling.) The rest of the money accumulated.  Not that it was being got together to do something with by and by.  He had no intention of ever spending more than he spent at present.  Indeed, with a lump of coal taken off here, and a needless candle blown out there, he rather hoped in future to spend less.

His wife was Madam Liberality’s godmother.  She was a good-hearted woman, and took real pleasure in being kind to people, in the way she thought best for them.  Sometimes it was a graceful and appropriate way, and very often it was not.  The most acceptable act of kindness she ever did to her god-daughter was when the child was recovering from an illness, and she asked her to visit her at the seaside.

Madam Liberality had never seen the sea, and the thought of it proved a better stimulus than the port wine which her doctor ordered so easily, and her mother got with such difficulty.

When new clothes were bought, or old ones refurbished, Madam Liberality, as a rule, went to the wall.  Not because her mother was ever guilty of favouritism, but because such occasions afforded an opportunity of displaying generosity towards her younger sister.