The next disagreeable was confined to his feminine companions; it was the mounting of the polished oak stairs, which had very handsome carpets rolled up and laid by in a spare bedroom, so that the ascent of these glossy steps might have served, in barbarous times, as a trial by ordeal from which none but the most spotless virtue could have come off with unbroken limbs. Sophy’s weakness about these polished stairs was always a subject of bitter remonstrance on Mrs Glegg’s part; but Mrs Tulliver ventured on no comment, only thinking to herself it was a mercy when she and the children were safe on the landing. “Mrs Gray has sent home my new bonnet, Bessy,” said Mrs Pullet, in a pathetic tone, as Mrs Tulliver adjusted her cap. “Has she, sister?” said Mrs Tulliver, with an air of much interest. “And how do you like it?” “It’s apt to make a mess with clothes, taking ’em out and putting ’em in again,” said Mrs Pullet, drawing a bunch of keys from her pocket and looking at them earnestly, “but it ’ud be a pity for you to go away without seeing it. There’s no knowing what may happen.” Mrs Pullet shook her head slowly at this last serious consideration, which determined her to single out a particular key. “I’m afraid it’ll be troublesome to you getting it out, sister,” said Mrs Tulliver; “but I _should_ like to see what sort of a crown she’s made you.” Mrs Pullet rose with a melancholy air and unlocked one wing of a very bright wardrobe, where you may have hastily supposed she would find a new bonnet. Not at all. Such a supposition could only have arisen from a too superficial acquaintance with the habits of the Dodson family. In this wardrobe Mrs Pullet was seeking something small enough to be hidden among layers of linen,—it was a door-key. “You must come with me into the best room,” said Mrs Pullet. “May the children come too, sister?” inquired Mrs Tulliver, who saw that Maggie and Lucy were looking rather eager. “Well,” said aunt Pullet, reflectively, “it’ll perhaps be safer for ’em to come; they’ll be touching something if we leave ’em behind.” So they went in procession along the bright and slippery corridor, dimly lighted by the semi-lunar top of the window which rose above the closed shutter; it was really quite solemn. Aunt Pullet paused and unlocked a door which opened on something still more solemn than the passage,—a darkened room, in which the outer light, entering feebly, showed what looked like the corpses of furniture in white shrouds. Everything that was not shrouded stood with its legs upward. Lucy laid hold of Maggie’s frock, and Maggie’s heart beat rapidly.