Mrs. Yapp’s threatened visit took such a hold of me, that I felt myself quite driven up in a corner; and the worst of it was, I saw no way of getting out of it with any decency. Though I couldn’t for the life of me understand what claim she had upon my husband’s hospitality, now that it had pleased Providence in its bountiful mercy to take his first wife from him--and looking at it as I did, it did seem to me to be very like her impudence indeed in calling my husband her “dear boy,” since her daughter had been dead and gone a good two years at least. Besides, of course, _I_ was a mere nobody--_I_ was--and not worth even so much as the mentioning in her letter, for her coming couldn’t put _me_ out in the least--oh no! And what would my lady care if it did, for it was very clear _I_ was nothing to her--not _I_, indeed! and as to whether it was convenient _for me_ to receive her or not, that was the last thing thought of; for if she turned us all topsy-turvy, and left us without so much as a leg to stand upon, what would it matter to her so long as _she_ was all right and comfortable, and could get her bed and board for nothing--for that was at the bottom of it, I could see--a mean old thing! Making her dear boy’s house her home too!--her _home_, indeed!--her hotel, more likely; and she has got four hundred a-year long annuities. Sooner than _I_’d be guilty of such meanness, I declare, upon my word and honour, I’d take the first broom I could get, and sweep the very first crossing I came to. Still, under the circumstances, it was very clear that it would never do to slam the door in her face, when she came to us, though, I declare, I felt as if nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to have done so; for really I don’t know anything more uncomfortable than to be obliged to go bowing and scraping, and saying a lot of civil things to a creature, when all the time you’re wishing to yourself that she was safe at the bottom of the sea--as every lady with her proper feelings about her knows she has been obliged to do scores and scores of times. Of course, Mrs. Yapp would be professing all kinds of love for her “dear boy,” and be continually crying up to the skies his beloved first wife, and she would naturally expect me to go sympathizing with the poor dear, when really and truly I didn’t care two pins about the thing. And it is so unpleasant to a right-minded female like myself, to be forced to take out one’s handkerchief, and play the crocodile about a bit of goods that one had never been a penny the better for. Of course, too, she would pretend to be so delighted to make my acquaintance, and unable to make enough of me to my face, though, directly my back was turned, she would go picking me to pieces like anything. Augh! I do detest deceit.