‘Balder Hall, Magdalen’s? God bless you, no! I wish it was. She’s a poor penniless niece of an old bedridden woman, Miss Martha Strangforth, whom they call about here “the Immortal,” for they say she will never die. I daresay Magdalen wishes it were true, for so long as the old woman lives the girl has a home and a position. And old Martha’s income dies with her, and I don’t fancy she has saved much.’ ‘Girl—she must be a precocious girl,’ said Eleanor, sweetly. ‘Oh, the malice of you women!’ said Otho, gnashing his teeth with virtuous and masculine indignation. ‘When I say “girl,” I’m rather stretching a point. She is a year or so older than I am—about eight and twenty. And it seems to me that precious few women under that age are worth speaking to.’ ‘Well, they certainly should be worth speaking to by the time they are that age, if ever they intend to be. But if she is poor and dependent, it seems to me men ought to be rather careful about going to see her very often.’ ‘For fear she should set traps for them, of course,’ sneered Otho. ‘Oh, not at all. But because other people are sometimes ill-natured, and a woman who has her way to make, or who may have her living to earn some time, cannot be too careful.’ ‘Oh, come, Eleanor! When you see her you will understand that one can’t speak of Magdalen Wynter in that way. No one could imagine her in any inferior position. It isn’t in her to take one.’ ‘Isn’t it? Well, it is lucky for her if she has some power that can defy need and want of money. I used to help Aunt Emily with some charitable works that she was interested in—governesses’ homes, and ladies’ work societies, and so on; and you would have been astonished at the terrible cases one used to see, and the deplorable condition of ladies—ladies of birth and beauty, with the most terrible tales of the straits to which poverty and distress had driven them. I used to lie awake for hours sometimes, wishing I had the courage to divide my money into a common fund, for some of the poorest, and go and live with them on equal terms.’ ‘You’ll come to no good if you let that sort of nonsense get into your head,’ said Otho, gruffly. ‘But it’s useless to talk. You will understand what I mean when you see her,’ he added, feeling that his sister was not altogether devoid of the obstinacy which was so salient a feature in his own character. ‘She does not care for the people about here, you know. In fact, she dislikes them, and makes great fun of them. And they don’t care about her; she’s too handsome for them.’