To this Mary could not make any reply, though her indignation was scarcely diminished. She was, indeed, very indignant on this point. All of these ladies--her aunt at the Hall and the girls, as well as her aunt at the rectory--spoke and looked as if Mary was no better than a victim, helplessly overwhelmed with children; whereas she was a proud and happy mother, thinking none of them fit to be compared with her in her glory. That they should venture to pity her, and say poor Mary! she, who was in full possession of all that is most excellent in life, was almost more than the curate’s wife could bear. Her two little boys and her little girl were her jewels as they were those of the Roman woman whom Mary had heard of, but whom she would have thought it too high-flown to quote. She felt, all the same, very much like that classical matron. Anna and Sophie were very proud of their diamond pins, which even for diamonds were poor things; and they had the impertinence to pity her and her three children! Mary fumed all the time they paid her their visits, which had the air of being visits of condolence rather than of congratulation; and in her weakness cried with vexation and indignation after they had left. The curate came in before those angry tears were dried, and her agitated feelings burst forth. “They come to me and pity me,” she cried, “till I don’t know how to endure them! Oh, Harry, I wish we were not so near my relations! Strangers daren’t be so nasty to you as your relations!” Mary sobbed, with the long-pent-up feeling, which in that moment of feebleness she could not restrain. “My dearest, never mind them,” he said soothingly. And then, after a pause, with some hesitation,--“Mary, this gives me courage to say what I never liked to say before. Don’t you find, even with your own little income, dear, which I was so anxious should not be touched, and with all the advantages here, that it is very difficult to make both ends meet?” “Oh, Harry! I have been trying to keep it from you. I didn’t want to burden you with that too. Difficult! it is impossible! I must give Betsy warning. I have been making up my mind to it. After all, it is only pride, you know, for she is very little good. I have had most of the work to do myself all the time. I must give her warning as soon as I am well--or rather, we must try to find her a place, which is the best way.” “What?” cried the curate. “Betsy, the only creature you have to do anything for you! No, no. I cannot allow that.”