In every civilised country a village is the world in little, though it is always surprising to the student of human nature to find how many distinct types are gathered within its narrow bounds.  And if this is true of village communities all over Europe, it is peculiarly true of an English village.

Miss Pendarth was a clever woman.  Too clever to be really happy in the life to which she had condemned herself.  She had been born many years too early to follow up any of the various paths now open to the intelligent, educated woman.  Yet she belonged, by birth and upbringing, to that age-long tradition of command which perhaps counts for most of all to the one class which has remained in England much the same for generations.

The Pendarths had once been very great people in Cornwall, and long records of the family are to be found in all county histories.  Olivia Pendarth was wordlessly very proud of their lineage, and it is no exaggeration to say that she would have died rather than in any way disgrace it.

A woman of great activity, she had perforce no way of expending her energies excepting in connection with the people about her, and always in intention at least she spent herself to some beneficent purpose.  Yet there was a considerable circle who much disliked her and whom she herself regarded with almost limitless scorn.  These were the folk, idle people most of them, and very well-to-do, who, having made fortunes in London, now lived within a radius of five to ten miles round Beechfield.

Miss Pendarth was on excellent terms with what one must call, for want of a better name, the cottage class.  To them she was a good, firm, faithful friend, seeing them through their many small and great troubles, and taking real pains to help their sons and daughters to make good starts in life.  Many a village mother had asked Miss Pendarth to “speak” to her naughty girl or headstrong son, and as she was quite fearless, her words often had a surprising effect.  She neither patronised nor scolded, and it was impossible to take her in.

But when dealing with the affairs of those of her neighbours, who were well-to-do, and who regarded themselves as belonging to her own class, it was quite another matter.  With regard to them and their affairs she was what they often angrily accused her of being—­a busy-body and even a mischief-maker.  Her lively mind caused her to take a great interest—­too great an interest—­in the private affairs of people some of whom she disliked, and even despised.  She was also not as scrupulous as she might have been in repeating unsavoury gossip.  Yet, even so, so substantially good a woman was she, that what some people called Miss Pendarth’s interfering ways had more than once brought about a reconciliation between husband and wife, or between an old-fashioned mother and a rebellious daughter.  It was hopeless to try to keep from her the news of any local quarrel, love-affair, or money trouble—­somehow or other she always found out everything she was likely to want to know—­and she almost always wanted to know everything.