‘Oh, ma’am, I wouldn’t if I was you!’ she exclaimed, energetically. ‘I wouldn’t have act or part in it. You won’t get no thanks for it. You never do. Nobody’s never thanked for that kind of thing. You didn’t get no thanks from Mr. Parker and Miss Morison, and look at the trouble you took about them. There isn’t an unhappier couple in Little Yafford, if all folks say is true, and I believe every time they quarrel your name comes up between ’em. “If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Dulcimer I shouldn’t have been such a fool as to marry you,” says he. “My wretchedness is all Mrs. Dulcimer’s doing,” says she, “and I wish I was dead.” That’s a dreadful thing to have on your conscience, ma’am, after taking no end of trouble to bring it about.’ ‘Nonsense, Rebecca! Is it my fault the Parkers are quarrelsome? Mary Morison would have quarrelled with any husband.’ ‘Then she ought never to have had one,’ ejaculated Rebecca, renewing her savage treatment of the fender. ‘But I recollect when you thought her perfection.’ ‘I allow that I was deceived in Miss Morison, Rebecca,’ replied the Vicar’s wife, meekly. She was very fond of Rebecca, and not a little afraid of her. ‘But you see Miss Scratchell is quite another sort of person.’ ‘Company manners,’ said Rebecca, scornfully. ‘They’ve all got ’em. It’s the outside crust. You can’t tell what’s inside the pie.’ ‘I am sure Miss Scratchell is a good girl. See how she has been brought up. The Scratchells have to study every sixpence.’ ‘Does that make people good?’ inquired Rebecca, speculatively, gathering up her brushes and leathers into her box. ‘I don’t think it would improve my disposition. I like the sixpences to come and go, without my thinking about ’em.’ ‘Ah, but, Rebecca, consider what a good wife a girl brought up like that would make for a poor man. Mr. Culverhouse has nothing but his curacy, you know.’ ‘I should ha’ thought a rich young woman would ha’ suited him better. There’s Miss Harefield, with her large fortune, would be just the thing.’ ‘Nonsense, Rebecca! Mr. Harefield would never consent to such a marriage. Sir Kenrick is the proper husband for Miss Harefield; he can make her mistress of one of the finest places in Hampshire.’ ‘Oh, that’s it, is it?’ said Rebecca, with something approaching a groan. ‘Sir Kenrick and Miss Harefield, and Mr. Culverhouse and Miss Scratchell! Ladies’ chain and set to partners--like the first figure in a quadrille. You’ve got your hands full, ma’am, and I suppose it’s no use my talking; but if you wasn’t too wise a lady to take a fool’s advice, I should say don’t have nothink to do with it.’ And with this oracular speech Rebecca took up her box, with all her implements of war, and left the drawing-room. ‘Rebecca is a good creature, and an original, but dull,’ thought Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘I never can make her see things in a proper light.’