"Meaning the poor woman at the back of the chapel?" said Tozer--"I don't know nothing of her, except that I visited there, sir, as you might do, in the way of dooty. Ah! I fear she's in the gall of bitterness, Mr. Vincent; she didn't take my 'umble advice, sir, not as a Christian ought. But she comes to the chapel regular enough; and you may be the means of putting better thoughts into her mind; and as for our great ladies in Carlingford," continued Mr. Tozer, with the air of an authority, "never a one of them, I give you my word, would go out of her way a-visiting to one of the chapel folks. They're a deal too bigoted for that, especially them at St. Roque's." "Oh, Pa, how can you say so," cried Phoebe, "when it's very well known the ladies go everywhere, where the people are very, very poor? but then Mr. Vincent said a poor _lady_. Was it a nice carriage? The Miss Wodehouses always walk, and so does Mrs. Glen, and all the Strangeways. Oh, I know, it was the young Dowager--that pretty, pretty lady, you know, mamma, that gives the grand parties, and lives in Grange Lane. I saw her carriage going up the lane by the chapel once. Oh, Mr. Vincent, wasn't she very, _very_ pretty, with blue eyes and brown hair?" "I could not tell you what kind of eyes and hair they were," said Mr. Vincent, trying hard to speak indifferently, and quite succeeding so far as Phoebe Tozer was concerned; for who could venture to associate the minister of Salem, even as a victim, with the bright eyes of Lady Western? "I thought it strange to see her there, whoever she was." "Oh, how insensible you are!" murmured Phoebe, across the table. Perhaps, considering all things, it was not strange that Phoebe should imagine her own pink bloom to have dimmed the young pastor's appreciation of other beauty. "But it was Mrs. Hilyard I inquired about, and not this Lady--Lady what, Miss Phoebe?" asked the reverend hypocrite; "I don't profess to be learned in titles, but hers is surely a strange one. I thought dowager was another word for an old woman."