It was upon these words that she now pondered. Her two elbows set on the open bureau, her legs stretched under it, her lips resting upon the knuckles of her clasped hands, and her eyes fixed in deep abstraction on the row of pigeonholes before her, she entered upon a sort of self-catechism which ran thus:-- _Q._ What is it that I most wish for on earth? _A._ A rich and fashionable husband. _Q._ What is required to obtain this? _A._ Beauty, fortune, talents, and a free entrance into good society. _Q._ Do I possess any of these?... and which? _A._ I possess beauty, fortune, and talents. _Q._ What remains wanting? _A._ A free entrance into good society. "TRUE!" she exclaimed aloud, "it is that I want, and it is that I must procure." Notwithstanding her sanguine estimate of herself, the widow, when she arrived at this point, was fain to confess that she did not exactly know how this necessary addition to her ways and means was to be acquired. Beyond the town of Silverton, and a thinly inhabited circuit of a mile or two round it, she had not a personal acquaintance in the world. This was a very perplexing consideration for a lady determined upon finding her way into the first circles, but its effect was rather to strengthen than relax her energies. There was, however, one person, and she truly believed one only in the wide world, who might, at her first setting out upon her progress, be useful to her. This was a sister of Mr. Barnaby's, married to a clothier, whose manufactory was at Frome, but whose residence was happily at Clifton near Bristol. She had never seen this lady, or any of her family, all intercourse between the brother and sister having of late years consisted in letters, not very frequent, and the occasional interchange of presents,--a jar of turtle being now and then forwarded by mail from Bristol, and dainty quarters of Exmoor mutton, and tin pots of clouted cream, returned from Silverton. Nevertheless Mrs. Peters was her sister-in-law just as much as if they had lived next door to each other for the last five years; and she had, of course, a right to all the kindness and hospitality so near a connexion demands. A clothier's wife, to be sure, was not exactly the sort of person she would have chosen, had choice been left her; but it was better than nothing, infinitely better; ... "and besides," as the logical widow's head went on to reason, "she may introduce me to people above herself.... At a public place, too, like Clifton, it must be so easy! And then every new acquaintance I make will serve to lead on to another.... I am not so shy but I can turn all accidents to account; and I am not such a fool as to stand at one end of a room, when I ought to be at the other...." Mrs. Barnaby never quoted Shakspeare, or she would probably have added here,-- "Why, then the world's mine oyster, which I with _wit_ will open," for it was with some such thought that her soliloquy ended.