She was really hurt and vexed, and scarcely less so by a discovery that she made shortly after.  The hot weather had made the houses beneath the hill more close and unwholesome than ever, Simkins’s wife had fallen into a lingering illness, and Albinia, visiting her constantly, was painfully sensible of the dreadful atmosphere in which she lived, under the roof, with a window that would not open.  She offered to have the house improved at her own expense, but was told that Mr. Pettilove would raise the rent if anything were laid out on it.  She went about talking indignantly of Mr. Pettilove’s cruelty and rapacity, and when Mr. Dusautoy hinted that Pettilove was only agent, she exclaimed that the owner was worse, since ignorance alone could be excused.  Who was the wretch?  Some one, no doubt, who never came near the place, and only thought of it as money.

‘Fanny,’ said Mr. Dusautoy, ‘I really think we ought to tell her.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Dusautoy, ’I think it would be better.  The houses belonged to old Mr. Meadows.’

‘Oh, if they are Mrs. Meadows’s, I don’t wonder at anything.’

‘I believe they are Gilbert Kendal’s.’

They were very kind; Mr. Dusautoy strode out at the window, and his wife would not look at Albinia during the minute’s struggle to regain her composure, under the mortification that her husband should have let her rave so much and so long about what must be in his own power.  Her only comfort was the hope that he had never heard what she said, and she knew that he so extremely disliked a conference with Pettilove, that he would consent to anything rather than have a discussion.

She was, for the first time in her life, out of spirits.  Gilbert was always upon her mind; and the daily walk to meet him was a burthen, consuming a great deal of time, and becoming trying on hot summer afternoons, the more so as she seldom ventured to rest after it, lest dulness should drive Gilbert into mischief, or, if nothing worse, into quarrelling with Sophia.  If she could not send him safely out fishing, she must be at hand to invent pleasures and occupations for him; and the worst of it was, that the girls grudged her attention to their brother, and were becoming jealous.  They hated the walk to Robble’s Leigh, and she knew that it was hard on them that their pleasure should be sacrificed, but it was all-important to preserve him from evil.  She had wished to keep the tutor-negotiations a secret, but they had oozed out, and she found that Mrs. and Miss Meadows had been declaring that they had known how it would be—­ whatever people said beforehand, it always came to the, same thing in the end, and as to its being necessary, poor dear Gibbie was very different before the change at home.

Albinia could not help shedding a few bitter tears.  Why was she to be always misjudged, even when she meant the best?  And, oh! how hard, well-nigh impossible, to forgive and candidly to believe that, in the old lady, at least, it was partiality, and not spite.