There are some women who seem designed by nature for widows, just as there are others designed for grandmothers and yet others for old maids.  Mrs. Polkington was of the first sort; she seemed specially created to adorn the position of widow-hood; she certainly did adorn it; she was a pattern to all widows and did not miss a single point of the situation.  Of course she came to the cottage as soon as possible after receiving news of her husband’s death.  The journey was long and expensive, the weather somewhat bad; that weighed for nothing with her; she was there as soon as might be, feeling, saying and doing just what a bereaved widow ought.  The fact that she and her husband had been obliged through the force of circumstances, to live separate the past year did not alter her emotions, her real tears or her real grief.  Considering the practice and experience she had had it would have been surprising if she had not succeeded in deceiving herself as well as most of her world in these things.  So acute were her feelings that when she came into the kitchen and saw Julia dispatching the letter, she felt quite a shock.

“What is it?” she asked; “What is the matter?”

“Only a letter that could not wait,” Julia answered.

“Surely it could have waited till to-morrow,” her mother said; “under the circumstances surely one would be excused.”

Julia thought differently but did not say so, and in silence set about some necessary preparation.

The Reverend Richard Frazer came to the funeral; Violet was unable to do so; he represented her and supported his mother-in-law too.  The banker, Mr. Ponsonby, also made the tedious journey to Halgrave; he came out of respect for death in the abstract, and also because he expected affairs would want looking to, and it would suit him better to do it now than later.  These two with Johnny, Julia and her mother, were the only mourners at the funeral; a few village folk, moved by curiosity, attended, but no one else; there was not even an empty carriage, representative of a good family, following the humble cortege.  Mrs. Polkington observed this and felt it; an empty carriage and good livery following would have given her satisfaction, without in any way diminishing her sorrow and proper feeling.  It is conceivable she would have found satisfaction in being shipwrecked in aristocratic company, without at the same time, suffering less than she ought to suffer.

After the funeral they returned to the cottage and had a repast of Julia’s providing, eminently suitable to the occasion.  Everything was eminently suitable, every one’s behaviour, every one’s clothes; Mr. Frazer’s grave face, the banker’s jerky manner—­the manner of a man concerned with the world’s money market and ill at ease in the intrusive presence of death.  Mrs. Polkington’s voice, face, feelings, sayings, everything.  Julia’s own behaviour was perfect, though all the time she saw how it looked as plainly as if she had been another