‘It is a thousand pities,’ said Miss Pratt, choosing to ignore Mrs. Pettifer’s slight sarcasm, ’for I certainly did consider Janet Raynor the most promising young woman of my acquaintance;—­a little too much lifted up, perhaps, by her superior education, and too much given to satire, but able to express herself very well indeed about any book I recommended to her perusal.  There is no young woman in Milby now who can be compared with what Janet was when she was married, either in mind or person.  I consider Miss Landor far, far below her.  Indeed, I cannot say much for the mental superiority of the young ladies in our first families.  They are superficial—­very superficial.’

‘She made the handsomest bride that ever came out of Milby church, too,’ said Mrs. Pettifer.  ’Such a very fine figure!  And it showed off her white poplin so well.  And what a pretty smile Janet always had!  Poor thing, she keeps that now for all her old friends.  I never see her but she has something pretty to say to me—­living in the same street, you know, I can’t help seeing her often, though I’ve never been to the house since Dempster broke out on me in one of his drunken fits.  She comes to me sometimes, poor thing, looking so strange, anybody passing her in the street may see plain enough what’s the matter; but she’s always got some little good-natured plan in her head for all that.  Only last night I met her, I saw five yards off she wasn’t fit to be out; but she had a basin in her hand, full of something she was carrying to Sally Martin, the deformed girl that’s in a consumption.’

’But she is just as bitter against Mr. Tryan as her husband is, I understand,’ said Rebecca.  ’Her heart is very much set against the truth, for I understand she bought Mr. Tryan’s sermons on purpose to ridicule them to Mrs. Crewe.

‘Well, poor thing,’ said Mrs. Pettifer, ’you know she stands up for everything her husband says and does.  She never will admit to anybody that he is not a good husband.’

‘That is her pride,’ said Miss Pratt.  ’She married him in opposition to the advice of her best friends, and now she is not willing to admit that she was wrong.  Why, even to my brother—­and a medical attendant, you know, can hardly fail to be acquainted with family secrets—­she has always pretended to have the highest respect for her husband’s qualities.  Poor Mrs. Raynor, however, is very well aware that every one knows the real state of things.  Latterly, she has not even avoided the subject with me.  The very last time I called on her she said, “Have you been to see my poor daughter?” and burst into tears.’

‘Pride or no pride,’ said Mrs. Pettifer, ’I shall always stand up for Janet Dempster.  She sat up with me night after night when I had that attack of rheumatic fever six years ago.  There’s great excuses for her.  When a woman can’t think of her husband coming home without trembling, it’s enough to make her drink something to blunt her feelings—­and no children either, to keep her from it.  You and me might do the same, if we were in her place.’