'In every possible way,' arching her brows, with a sort of impatience. 'What do rational human beings generally require?--work--fellowship--possible sympathy.' 'All of which are to be had for the asking. Nay, my dear Miss Trelawny,' as Ethel's slight shrug of the shoulders testified her dissent, 'where human beings are more or less congregated, there can be no lack of these.' 'They may possibly differ in the meaning we attach to our words. I am not speaking of the labour market, which is already glutted.' 'Nor I.' 'The question is,' continued the young philosopher, wearily, 'of what possible use are nine-tenths of the unmarried women? half of them marry to escape from the unbearable routine and vacuum of their lives.' Ethel spoke with such mournful candour, that Mildred's first feeling of astonishment changed into pity--so young and yet so cynical--and with such marginal wastes of unfulfilled purpose. 'When there is so much trouble and faultiness in the world,' she answered, 'there must be surely work enough to satisfy the most hungry nature. Have you not heard it asserted, Miss Trelawny, that nature abhors a vacuum?' To her surprise, a shade crossed Miss Trelawny's face. 'You talk so like our village Mentor, that I could almost fancy I were listening to him. Are there no duties but the seven corporal works of mercy, Miss Lambert? Is the intellect to play no part in the bitter comedy of women's lives?' 'You would prefer tragedy?' questioned Mildred, with a slight twitching of the corner of her mouth. It was too absurdly incongruous to hear this girl, radiant with health, and glorying in her youth, speaking of the bitter comedy of life. Mildred began to accuse her in her own mind of unreal sentiment, and the vaporous utterings of girlish spleen; but Ethel's intense earnestness disarmed her of this suspicion. 'I have no respect for the people; they are utterly brutish and incapable of elevation. I am horrifying you, Miss Lambert, but indeed I am not speaking without proof. At one time I took great interest in the parish, and used to hold mothers' meetings--pleasant evenings for the women. I used to give them tea, and let them bring their needlework, on condition they listened to my reading. Mr. Lambert approved of my plan; he only stipulated that as I was so very young--in age, I suppose, he meant--that Miss Prissy Ortolan should assist me.' 'And it was an excellent idea,' returned Mildred, warmly.