Mrs Marcella's health had somewhat improved of late, but her disposition had not sustained a corresponding change. She was holding forth now to her two listeners on matters public and private, to the great satisfaction of Mrs Clarissa, but not altogether to that of Mrs Eleanor. "Well, so far as such a poor creature as I am can take any pleasure in any thing, I am glad to see Mrs Derwent back at White-Ladies. Mrs Phoebe would never have kept up the place properly. She hasn't her poor mother's spirit and working power--not a bit. The place would just have gone to wreck if she had remained mistress there; and I cannot but think she was sensible of it." "Well, for my part," put in Mrs Clarissa, "I feel absolutely certain something must have come to light about Madam's will, you know--which positively obliged Mrs Phoebe to give up everything to Madam Derwent. 'Tis monstrous to suppose that she would have done any such thing without being obliged. I feel as sure as if I had _seen_ it." "O my dear!" came in a gently deprecating tone from Mrs Eleanor. "Oh, I am positive!" repeated Mrs Clarissa, whose mind possessed the odd power of forcing conviction on itself by simple familiarity with an idea. "Everything discovers so many symptoms of it. I cannot but be infinitely certain. Down, Pug, down!" as Cupid's successor, which was not a dog, but a very small monkey, endeavoured to jump into her lap. "Well, till I know the truth is otherwise, I shall give Mrs Phoebe credit for all," observed Mrs Eleanor. "Indeed, I apprehend Clarissa has guessed rightly," said Mrs Marcella, fanning herself. "'Tis so unlikely, you know, for any one to do such a thing as this, without it were either an obligation or a trick to win praise. And I can't think _that_,--'tis too much." "Nay, but surely there is some love and generosity left in the world," urged Mrs Eleanor. "Oh, if you had had my experience, my dear," returned Mrs Marcella, working her fan more vigorously, "you would know there were no such things to be looked for in _this_ world. I've looked for gratitude, I can assure you, till I am tired." "Gratitude for what?" inquired Mrs Darcy, rather pertinently. "Oh, for all the things one does for people, you know. They are never thankful for them--not one bit." Mrs Darcy felt and looked rather puzzled. During the fifty years of their acquaintance, she never could remember to have seen Marcella Talbot do one disinterested kindness to any mortal being. "They take all you give them," pursued the last-named lady, "and then they just go and slander you behind your back. Oh, 'tis a miserable world, this!--full of malice, envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness, as the Prayer-Book says." "The Prayer-Book does not exactly say that, I think," suggested Mrs Eleanor; "it asks that we ourselves may be preserved from such evil passions."