“Have a care, Lady Bell, have a care,” interrupted Mrs. Walsh, in extreme disdain and disgust, “if you are so far left to yourself as openly to speak evil of the man whom you have vowed—ay, madam, vowed solemnly, so that you are a forsworn and lost woman if you break your vow—to honour and obey, then I shall not know what fine lady depravity we may look for next, or in what strict keeping, for your own unhappy sake, we ought to hold you.” “You may heap insult on insult; you may report what I have said to your cousin, Mrs. Walsh.” Lady Bell gave her foe free leave, as she nervously twirled the lace of her bodice, “that will be fair and kind, like the rest of your conduct.” “Indeed, my lady, I shall not stick to report this, or whatever I think necessary, to my cousin Trevor, at any time.” Mrs. Walsh accepted the permission undauntedly. “Worldly honour and I have shaken hands long ago. To do my duty to God and my neighbour, is all my care.” But Mrs. Walsh did not on this or any other occasion appeal to Squire Trevor. She was too stout-hearted a woman to call in, without reluctance, foreign aid in her battles. She might have shaken hands with worldly honour, but she had an honour of her own—she contented herself with confiding to her own husband that she “mistrusted” that young Lady Bell Trevor was either clean crazy, or on the high road to ruin. Perhaps it came to the same thing in the end, for, acting on her convictions, Mrs. Walsh took it upon herself, in what she believed the interest of religion, virtue, and family regard, to watch and guard the unfortunate young woman, and in this Mrs. Walsh was warmly abetted by Squire Trevor, who was growing every day more jealous of and carping to his wife. When Mrs. Walsh could not discharge her office in person, she did it in deputy by her eldest daughter. Young Sally Walsh, brought up under the hardest discipline, in her homespun linen and woollen, and barndoor buxomness, had been considerably dazzled to begin with, by the elegant apparition of Lady Bell, but having been smartly chidden by her mother for her short-sighted worldliness, she fell straightway into the opposite error. Sally was not only forward and intrusive in her bearing towards Lady Bell, whom Sally’s mother had in such small esteem, but, from learning to entertain a poor opinion of the strange, foolish young fine lady, and her distempered state of mind, Sally proceeded, without meaning much harm—on the whole meaning good, to despise Lady Bell and to trample upon her figuratively. Lady Bell had spirit to keep her own ground and resist being trampled on, but it was a proud, delicate spirit, and was at a discount in a contest with ruder, stronger spirits.