“But he must do it,” interposed aunt Glegg, energetically, “whether it’s hard or no. He hasn’t got to consider what’s hard; he must consider as he isn’t to trusten to his friends to keep him in idleness and luxury; he’s got to bear the fruits of his father’s misconduct, and bring his mind to fare hard and to work hard. And he must be humble and grateful to his aunts and uncles for what they’re doing for his mother and father, as must be turned out into the streets and go to the workhouse if they didn’t help ’em. And his sister, too,” continued Mrs Glegg, looking severely at Maggie, who had sat down on the sofa by her aunt Deane, drawn to her by the sense that she was Lucy’s mother, “she must make up her mind to be humble and work; for there’ll be no servants to wait on her any more,—she must remember that. She must do the work o’ the house, and she must respect and love her aunts as have done so much for her, and saved their money to leave to their nepheys and nieces.” Tom was still standing before the table in the centre of the group. There was a heightened colour in his face, and he was very far from looking humbled, but he was preparing to say, in a respectful tone, something he had previously meditated, when the door opened and his mother re-entered. Poor Mrs Tulliver had in her hands a small tray, on which she had placed her silver teapot, a specimen teacup and saucer, the castors, and sugar-tongs. “See here, sister,” she said, looking at Mrs Deane, as she set the tray on the table, “I thought, perhaps, if you looked at the teapot again,—it’s a good while since you saw it,—you might like the pattern better; it makes beautiful tea, and there’s a stand and everything; you might use it for every day, or else lay it by for Lucy when she goes to housekeeping. I should be so loath for ’em to buy it at the Golden Lion,” said the poor woman, her heart swelling, and the tears coming,—“my teapot as I bought when I was married, and to think of its being scratched, and set before the travellers and folks, and my letters on it,—see here, E. D.,—and everybody to see ’em.” “Ah, dear, dear!” said aunt Pullet, shaking her head with deep sadness, “it’s very bad,—to think o’ the family initials going about everywhere—it niver was so before; you’re a very unlucky sister, Bessy. But what’s the use o’ buying the teapot, when there’s the linen and spoons and everything to go, and some of ’em with your full name,—and when it’s got that straight spout, too.” “As to disgrace o’ the family,” said Mrs Glegg, “that can’t be helped wi’ buying teapots. The disgrace is, for one o’ the family to ha’ married a man as has brought her to beggary. The disgrace is, as they’re to be sold up. We can’t hinder the country from knowing that.”