"Mrs. Colston, mum," and in Mrs. Colston walked.

Mrs. Furze made a dash at her husband's clay pipe, forgetting that its destruction would not make matters better; but she only succeeded in upsetting the chair on which his legs rested, and in the confusion he slipped to the ground.

"Oh, Mrs. Colston, I am so sorry you have taken us by surprise; our house is being cleaned; pray walk upstairs--but oh dear, now I recollect the drawing-room is also turned out; what _will_ you do, and the smell of the smoke, too!"

"Pray do not disconcert yourself," replied the brewer's wife, patronisingly; "I do not mind the smoke, at least for a few minutes."

Mrs. Colston herself had objected strongly to calling on Mrs. Furze, but Mr. Colston had urged it as a matter of policy, with a view to Mr.

Furze's contributions to Church revenues.

"I have come purely on a matter of business, Mrs. Furze, and will not detain you."

Mr. Furze had retreated into a dark corner, and was putting on his waistcoat with his back to his distinguished guest. Catharine sat at the window quite immovable. Suddenly Mrs. Furze bethought herself she ought to introduce her husband and daughter.

"My husband and daughter, Mrs. Colston."

Mr. Furze turned half round, put his other arm into his waistcoat, and bowed. He had, of course, spoken to her scores of times in his shop, but he was not supposed to have seen her till that minute. Catharine rose, bowed, and sat down again.

"Take a chair, Mrs. Colston, take a chair," said Mr. Furze, although he had again turned towards the curtain, and was struggling with his coat.

Mrs. Furze, annoyed that her husband had antic.i.p.ated her, pulled the easy- chair forward.

"I am afraid I deprived you of your seat," said the lady, alluding, as Mrs. Furze had not the slightest doubt, to his tumble.

"Not a bit, ma'am, not a bit," and he moved towards Catharine, feeling very uncomfortable, and not knowing what to do with his hands and legs.

"We are so much obliged to you, Mrs. Furze, for your subscription to the restoration fund, we find that a new pulpit is much required; the old pulpit, you will remember, is much decayed in parts, and will be out of harmony with the building when it is renovated. Young Mr. Cawston, who is being trained as an architect--the builder's son, you know--has prepared a design which is charming, and the ladies wish to make the new pulpit a present solely from themselves." The smoke got into Mrs.

Colston's throat, and she coughed. "We want you, therefore, to help us."

"With the greatest pleasure."

"Then how much shall I say? Five pounds?"

"Would you allow me just to look at the subscription list?" interposed Mr. Furze, humbly; but before it could be handed to him Mrs. Furze had settled the matter.

"Five pounds--oh yes, certainly, Mrs. Colston. Mr. Cawston is, I believe, a young man of talent?"

"Undoubtedly, and he deserves encouragement. It must be most gratifying to his father to see his son endeavouring to raise himself from a comparatively humble occupation and surroundings into something demanding ability and education, from a mere trade into a profession."

Catharine shifted uneasily, raised her eyes, and looked straight at Mrs.

Colston but said nothing.

Meanwhile Mr. Furze was perusing the list with both elbows on his knees.

The difficulty with his hands and legs increased. He was conscious to a most remarkable degree that he had them, and yet they seemed quite foreign members of his body which he could not control.

"Well, ma'am, I think I must be going. I'll bid you good-bye."

"I have finished my errand, Mr. Furze, and I must be going too."

"Oh, pray, do not go yet," said Mrs. Furze, hoping, in the absence of her husband, to establish some further intimacy. Mr. Furze shook Mrs.

Colston's hand with its lemon-coloured glove and departed. Catharine noticed that Mrs. Colston looked at the glove--for the ironmonger had left a mark on it--and that she wiped it with her pocket-handkerchief.

"I wish to ask," said Mrs. Furze, in her mad anxiety to secure Mrs.

Colston, "if you do not think a new altar-cloth would be acceptable. I should be so happy--I will not say to give one myself, but to undertake the responsibility, and to contribute my share. The old altar-cloth will look rather out of place."

"Thank you, Mrs. Furze; I am sure I can answer at once. It will be most acceptable. You will not, I presume, object to adopting the design of the committee! We will send you a correct pattern. We have thought about the matter for some time, but had at last determined to wait indefinitely on the ground of the expense."

The expense! Poor Mrs. Furze had made her proposal on the spur of the moment. She, in her ignorance, had not thought an altar-cloth a very costly affair, and now she remembered that she had no friends who were not Dissenters. Moreover, to be on the committee was the object of her ambition, and it was clear that not only had n.o.body thought of putting her on it, but that she was to pay and take its directions.

"I believe," continued Mrs. Colston, "that the altar-cloth which we had provisionally adopted can be had in London for 20 pounds."

A ring at the front bell during this interesting conversation had not been noticed. The charwoman, still busy with broom and pail outside, knocked at the door with a knock which might have been given with the broom-handle and announced another visitor.

"Mrs. Bellamy, mum."

Catharine leaped up, rushed to meet her friend, caught her round the neck, and kissed her eagerly.

"Well, Miss Catharine, glad to see you looking so well; still kept the colour of Chapel Farm. This is the first time I've seen you in your new house, Mrs. Furze. I had to come over to Eastthorpe along with Bellamy, and I said I _must_ go and see my Catharine, though--and her mother--though they _do_ live in the Terrace, but I couldn't get Bellamy to come--no, he said the Terrace warn't for him; he'd go and smoke a pipe and have something to drink at your old shop, or rather your new shop, but it's in the old place in the High Street--leastways if you keep any baccy and whiskey there now--and he'd call for me with the gig, and I said as I knew my Catharine--her mother--would give me a cup of tea; and, Miss Catharine, you remember that big white hog as you used to look at always when you went out into the meadow?--well, he's killed, and I know Mr. Furze likes a bit of good, honest, country pork--none of your nasty town-fed stuff--you never know what hogs eat in towns--so Bellamy has a leg about fourteen pounds in the gig, but I thought I'd bring you about two or three pounds of the sausages myself in my basket here," and Mrs.

Bellamy pointed to a basket she had on her arm. She paused and became aware that there was a stranger sitting near the fireplace. "But you've got a visitor here; p'r'aps I shall be in the way."

"In the way!" said Catharine. "Never, never; give me your basket and your bonnet; or stay, Mrs. Bellamy, I will go upstairs with you, and you shall take off your things."

And so, before Mrs. Furze had spoken a syllable, Catharine and Mrs.

Bellamy marched out of the room.

"Who is that--that person?" said Mrs. Colston. "I fancy I have seen her before. She seems on intimate terms with your daughter."

"She is a farmer's wife, of humble origin, at whose house my daughter--lodged--for the benefit of her health."

"I must bid you good-day, Mrs. Furze. If you will kindly send a cheque for the five pounds to me, the receipt shall be returned to you in due course, and the drawing of the altar-cloth shall follow. I can a.s.sure you of the committee's thanks."

Mrs. Furze recollected she ought to ring the bell, but she also recollected the servant could not appear in proper costume. Accordingly she opened the dining-room door herself.

"Let me move that ere pail, mum, or you'll tumble over it," said the charwoman to Mrs. Colston, "and p'r'aps you won't mind steppin' on this side of the pa.s.sage, 'cause that side's all wet. 'Ere, Mrs. Furze, don't you come no further, I'll open the front door"; and this she did.

Mrs. Furze felt rather unwell, and went to her bedroom, where she sat down, and, putting her face on the bedclothes, gave way to a long fit of hysterical sobbing. She would not come down to tea, and excused herself on the ground of sickness. Catharine went up to her mother and inquired what was the matter, but was repulsed.

"Nothing is the matter--at least, nothing you can understand. I am very unwell; I am better alone; go down to Mrs. Bellamy."

"But, mother, it will do you good to be downstairs. Mrs. Bellamy will be so glad to see you, and she was so kind to me; it will be odd if you don't come."

"Go _away_, I tell you; I am best by myself; I can endure in solitude; you cannot comprehend these nervous attacks, happily for you; go _away_, and enjoy yourself with Mrs. Bellamy and your sausages."

Catharine had had some experience of these nervous attacks, and left her mother to herself. Mrs. Bellamy and Catharine consequently had tea alone, Mr. Furze remaining at his shop that afternoon, as he had been late in arrival.

"Sorry mother's so poorly, Catharine. Well, how do you like the Terrace?"

"I hate it. I detest every atom of the filthy, stuck-up, stuccoed hovel.

I hate--" Catharine was very excited, and it is not easy to tell what she might have said if Mrs. Bellamy had not interrupted her.