"She's in pain, this evening," said the last-named person in her usual blunt style. "Some folks can bear pain, and some can't. And those that can must beat with those that can't. She'll be better of letting it out a bit. Good evening." "Oh, isn't it dreadful!" said Rhoda, when they were out of the gate. "I just hate going to see Mrs Marcella, especially when she takes one of her complaining fits. If I were Mrs Jane, I should let her have it out by herself. But she is hard, rather--she doesn't care as I should." But Phoebe thought that a mistake. She had noticed the drawn brow of the silent sister, while the sufferer was detailing her string of troubles, and the sudden quiver of the under lip, when allusion was made to the eight of whom the family had once consisted: and Phoebe's deduction was, not that Jane Talbot bore no burden, but that she kept it out of sight. Perhaps that very characteristic bluntness of her manner denoted a tight curb kept upon her spirit. Rhoda had noticed nothing of all this. Herself a surface character, she could not see below the surface in another. The Wednesday evening came, and with it Sir Richard Delawarr's coach, conveying his two younger daughters. They were extremely unlike in person. Gatty was tall, calm, and deliberate; Molly was rather diminutive for her years, and exceedingly lively. While Gatty came forward in a stately, courteous manner, courtesying to Madam, and kindly answering her inquiries after Betty, Molly linked her arm in Rhoda's, with-- "How goes it, old jade?" And when Mr Onslow, who happened to be crossing the hall, stopped and inquired in a rather timid manner if Mrs Betty's health were improving, Molly at once favoured him with a slap on the back, and the counter query,-- "What's that to you, you old thief?" Phoebe was horrified. If these were aristocratic manners, she preferred those of inferior quality. But noticing that Gatty's manners were quiet and correct, Phoebe concluded that Molly must be an exceptional eccentricity. She contemplated the prospect of a month in that young lady's company with unmitigated repugnance. "Well, Mrs Molly, my dear,--as smart as ever!" remarked Madam, turning to Molly with a smile. "All right, old witch!" said Molly. And to Phoebe's astonishment, Madam smiled on, and did not resent the impertinence. "Well!--how do you like Gatty and Molly?" said Rhoda to Phoebe, when they were safe in their own room. "Pretty well, Mrs Gatty," replied Phoebe, leaving the question of Molly undecided. "Don't you like Molly?" demanded Rhoda, laughing. "Ah! I see. She's rather too clever to please you." "I ask your pardon, but I don't see any cleverness in downright rudeness," timidly suggested Phoebe. "Oh, nobody cares what Molly says," answered Rhoda. "They put up with all that,--she's so smart. You see, she's very, very ingenious, and everybody thinks so, and she knows people think so. She's a rep., you see, and she has to keep it up."