This close acquaintance with necessity had not endeared that stern goddess’s countenance to Isabella. She had a secret hankering after the good things of this life; and to her mind Beatrix Harefield, whose solitary existence was for most people a subject of pity, was a person to be envied. Had she not a fine old house to live in, every room in which was like a picture, horses and carriages at her disposal, servants to wait upon her, and an unlimited supply of pocket-money? It was a dull life, of course, but Mr. Harefield would die before very long, no doubt, and take his gloominess to a more appropriate habitation, and then Beatrix would be the richest woman in the neighbourhood, free to drain the cup of pleasure to the lees. Ten years ago, when Beatrix was a tall, thin-legged child in a short black frock, recovering slowly from a severe attack of whooping-cough, the family doctor ventured to call attention to the exceeding solitariness of her life, and to suggest that some juvenile companionship should be procured for her. It was less than a year after Mrs. Harefield’s death, and the master of the Water House wore an air of settled gloom which made him, in the minds of his fellow-men, somewhat unapproachable. The doctor made his suggestion timidly. He was only the family practitioner of Little Yafford, and was much humbler in his manners and pretensions than the bakers and butchers of that settlement; for those traders knew that people must have bread and meat always, while epidemics, accidents, and chronic diseases were subject to periods of dulness, sorely depressing to the faculty. If he had been Dr. Fawcus, the consulting physician of Great Yafford, he would have ordered playfellows for Miss Harefield with as off-hand an air as he ordered boiled chicken and barley water. But Mr. Namby made the suggestion tentatively, quite prepared to withdraw it if it were ill received. ‘The child seems dull, certainly,’ said Mr. Harefield. ‘She doesn’t run, or skip, or scream, like the general run of children. I have thought it an advantage; but I suppose, as you say, it is a sign of feebleness of constitution.’ ‘I think that anything which would enliven her spirits might conduce to her recovery,’ replied the doctor. ‘She doesn’t gain strength as fast as I should wish.’ ‘Really!’ said Mr. Harefield, with a far-off look, as if he were talking of somebody at the Antipodes. ‘Well, if you think it wise, we must get her a playfellow. I have received no visitors, as you know, since my wife’s death. In my best days I always considered society more or less a bore, and I could not endure to have people about me now. But we must get a playfellow for the child. Have you a girl that would do?’ The surgeon blushed. What an opening it might have been for his daughter, had she been old enough! Unhappily she was still in her cradle. He explained this to Mr. Harefield. ‘My agent, Scratchell, has a little girl, I believe.’ ‘He has several.’