“You must think it dreadful indeed,” said Mrs Montague, addressing Frances, “that we should discuss such a sad thing in this way. Of course, we are all very sorry for poor Mr Winterbourn; and if he had been ill and dying in his own house---- But one’s mind is occupied at present by the great inconvenience--oh, more than that--the horror and--and embarrassment to your dear mother.” “All that,” said Sir Thomas with a certain solemnity. Perhaps it was the air of unusual gravity with which he uttered these two words which raised the smallest momentary titter,--no, not so much as a titter--a faintly audible smile, if such an expression may be used,--chiefly among the young ladies, who had perhaps a clearer realisation of the kind of embarrassment that was meant than was expected of them. But Frances had no clue whatever to it. She replied warmly-- “My mother will not think of the inconvenience. It is surely those who are in such trouble themselves who are the only people to think about. Poor Mrs Winterbourn----” “Who is it that is speaking of me in such a kind voice?” said the sick man’s wife. She had just come into the room; and she was very well aware that she was being discussed by everybody about--herself and her circumstances, and all those contingencies which were, in spite of herself, beginning to stir her own mind, as they had already done the minds of all around. That is one thing which in any crisis people in society may be always sure of, that their circumstances are being fully talked over by their friends. “I hope we have all kind voices when we speak of you, my dear Nelly. This one was Frances Waring, our new little friend here.”