Mrs. Gilbert looked round the humble adornments of the chamber, with a very dissatisfied air. The place appeared less attractive for being cluttered up with trunks and band boxes, which always give an air of discomfort to a chamber of small dimensions. "What miserable cribs," she observed, shugging her shoulders. "Does the house afford no better accommodation?" "This is the best and largest sleeping room. It was always occupied by your husband till he went abroad." "By Lieutenant Rushmere," said Mrs. Gilbert, correcting her. "Stow those trunks away into the dressing-room, and that will give us more space to move about." "There is no dressing-room." "No dressing-room!" exclaimed both the women in a breath. Dorothy shook her head. "They can be placed in the passage, Mrs. Gilbert, if you wish it. Shall I call up your servant to remove them?" "Certainly not. She has my dog to feed and attend to. Cannot you do it yourself?" "_Certainly not_," said Dorothy, repeating her words, "I am not a hireling but an adopted daughter of Mrs. Rushmere's, with whom I have resided since my infancy." "Oh, indeed. I thought there were no fine ladies in the country," sneered the spurious aristocrat. "Not without they are imported from London," said Dorothy, with an air of nonchalance, as she left the room. "Mamma! mamma!" cried Mrs. Gilbert, raising her hands. "Did you ever hear such impertinence? I'll soon get that jade out of the house. I wonder Gilbert never told us a word about this creature, and he was brought up with her." "I think Gilbert Rushmere has behaved very ill in bringing us down to this outlandish place," said Mrs. Rowly, turning from the glass. "After all his bragging and boasting, you would have imagined it a baronial castle at least, and his mother a titled lady." "If I had known what sort of people they were, I never would have married him," said Mrs. Gilbert. "I thought him handsome and rich, and there he is--a useless cripple, with nothing for us to depend upon but his paltry pension." "Now you are here, Sophy, you must make the best of it. You know how we are situated. You cannot live elsewhere." "And to have that stuck-up girl always in the house--a spy upon all one's actions. It's not to be thought of or tolerated for a moment. I wonder what sort of people there are in the neighbourhood. I shall positively die of dulness, shut up with these illiterate low-bred creatures." And the bride continued grumbling and complaining, until Polly announced that dinner was on the table. Polly had had her troubles in the kitchen with Mrs. Gilbert's maid, who was about as common a specimen of humanity as could well be imagined, rendered doubly ridiculous by a servile apeing of the fine manners of her mistress.