‘People change as years go on; and Cherry is always enthusiastic--gushing, as my young people say. But do you know, Miss Charity, that poor Mr. Beresford is always there? dining there on Sunday; sitting till one does not know how late; and she is a woman separated from her husband,’ said Mrs. Burchell, lowering her voice. ‘I am sure that is a thing of which you cannot approve.’ ‘Of women separating from their husbands?’ Miss Charity was sitting in her dressing-gown, in her bedroom, by the fire. She had been laid up by ‘one of her attacks.’ This was how everybody spoke of it; and though she was completely out of danger, it was necessary to take care. The consequence was that she lived in her bedroom, and chiefly in her dressing-gown, and was sometimes fretful, hard to manage, and a strain upon Miss Cherry’s powers. Almost any visitor, who would come and bring a little variety, and particularly a little news, was an advantage; therefore Cherry was very reluctant to interfere with what Mrs. Burchell said, especially as she was hungering for news of the child who, though she wrote so regularly, did not say half what Miss Cherry wanted to hear. ‘I can’t pronounce on such a question without knowing the circumstances,’ said Miss Charity. ‘Women are fools, but then so are most men as well.’ ‘Oh, Miss Charity! that is one of your quaint ways of stating things. Mr. Burchell always says you have such quaint ways of expressing yourself; but always judicious, quite above what could be expected from a woman.’ ‘Mr. Burchell is a good judge; he has means of knowing what may be expected from a woman,’ said the old lady, sharply. ‘And so you think badly of Mrs. Meredith? But make your mind easy; she is not separated from her husband.’ ‘_Not!_’ Mrs. Burchell echoed the negative in a tone which was faint with disappointment. ‘Oh, but pardon me, I fear you must be mistaken, for Roger says----’ ‘I thought that boy was a nice boy. What have you done to him to make him a gossip? Cherry, that was the one I thought well of, was it not? The others were naught, except Agnes; but this was a nice boy.’ ‘Agnes is very self-willed,’ said Mrs. Burchell; ‘she is gone to that mission, though I am sure there is plenty to do at home and in the parish. I don’t know what to say to her. But as for the others being naught, I don’t think it is very kind of you to say so,’ she added, looking as if she meant to cry. ‘It is only one of my quaint ways of expressing myself,’ said Miss Charity, grimly. ‘I hate a boy who is a gossip. It is bad enough in girls; but then one is sorry for the poor things that have nothing better to do. What does this boy of yours say? If he was my boy, I’d whip him for tale-telling. And what was he doing in the Square?’