‘Suppose mistakes came into my head.’

’Oh! they would not find it out if they did!  I declare!—­what’s this—­Persian?  Are you going to teach them Persian?’

’No; it is Greek.  You see it is a piece of a Psalm, a quotation rather different in the New Testament.  I wrote it down to ask papa what it is in Hebrew.’

‘By-the-bye, Sophy,’ continued Lucy, ’how could you let Susan Price come to church with lace sleeves—­absolute lace sleeves!’

‘Had she?’

’There—­you never see anything!  Mamma, would not it be more sensible to keep their dress in order, than to go poking into Hebrew, which can’t be of use to any one?’

There was more reason than might appear in what Lucy said:  the girls of her class were more orderly, and fonder of her than Sophy’s of the grave young lady whose earnestness oppressed them, and whose shyness looked dislike and pride.  As to finding fault with their dress, she privately told Albinia that she could not commit such a discourtesy, and was answered that no one but Mrs. Dusautoy need interfere.

‘I will go and ask Mrs. Dusautoy what she wishes,’ said Albinia.  ’I should be glad if she would modify Lucy’s sumptuary laws.  To fall foul of every trifle only makes the girls think of their, dress.’

Albinia found Mrs. Dusautoy busied in writing notes on mourning paper.

‘Here is a note I had written to you,’ she said.  ’I am sending over to Hadminster to see if any of the curates can take the services to-morrow.’

Albinia looked at the note while Mrs. Dusautoy wrote on hurriedly.  She read that there could be no daily services at present, the Vicar having been summoned to Paris by the sudden death of Mrs. Cavendish Dusautoy.  As the image of a well-endowed widow, always trying to force her way into higher society, arose before Albinia, she could hardly wait till the letter was despatched, to break out in amazement,

’Was she a relation of yours?  Even the name never made me think of it!’

’It is a pity she cannot have the gratification of hearing it, poor woman,’ said Mrs. Dusautoy, ’but it is a fact that she did poor George Dusautoy the honour to marry him.’

‘Mr. Dusautoy’s brother?’

’Ay—­he was a young surgeon, just set up in practice, exactly like John—­nay, some people thought him still finer-looking.  She was a Miss Greenaway Cavendish, a stock-broker’s heiress of a certain age.’

‘Oh!’ expressively cried Albinia.

‘You may say so,’ returned Mrs. Dusautoy.  ’She made him put away his profession, and set up for taste and elegant idleness.’

‘And he submitted?’

’There was a great deal of the meek giant in him, and he believed implicitly in the honour she had done him.  It would have been very touching, if it had not been so provoking, to see how patiently and humbly that fine young man gave up all that would have made him happy, to bend to her caprices and pretensions.’