Luckily few people noticed Bella in her obscure corner, so she was not troubled with questions. Those who guessed who she was, felt that she had been very badly treated since the money had been left to Mrs. Vand, and indeed the sympathies of the entire neighbourhood were with the disinherited girl. Mrs. Vand, as everyone said, should have been ashamed of herself; but in spite of the indecent way in which she thrust her good fortune on everyone's notice, no one was bold enough to tell her what was the general opinion of her conduct. As for Bella, she sat in her corner feeling ill and miserable. She had every right to be so considering the position in which she and her lover were placed. It was to ween her thoughts from this dismal state of affairs that the kind-hearted school-mistress had induced her to come to the concert. Hitherto the cure had not worked. The programme was the usual village one. There were several sentimental ballads of the purely English drawing-room type; two or three recitations, the violin solos of Henry Vand, who really played with rare skill, and a reading by Silas Pence, who was the chairman. Pence looked leaner and more delicate than ever, and read the "Dream of Eugene Aram" as a cheerful contribution to the evening's entertainment. His sepulchral tones and dismal appearance cast quite a gloom over the close of the evening, which was only dispelled by the singing of a glee by the Marshely Choral Society. But some time before this point was reached Bella had slipped out of the room and had taken her way back to the cottage. She went early, as her aunt had noticed her, and it was just possible that Mrs. Vand, who dearly loved to make trouble, might start a quarrel if it came to a conversation between the two. Mrs. Vand had not forgiven her enforced payment of one hundred pounds.