Even if the ladies had been disposed to pardon her vulgarity, they could not by any effort summon a charitable sentiment toward one of their sex who degraded it by a public petition for a husband.  This was not to be excused; and, moreover, they entertained the sentimentalist’s abhorrence of the second marriage of a woman; regarding the act as simply execrable; being treason to the ideal of the sex—­treason to Woman’s purity—­treason to the mysterious sentiment which places Woman so high, that when a woman slips there is no help for it but she must be smashed.

Seeing that each looked as implacable as the other, Mrs. Chump called plaintively, “Arr’bella!”

The lady spoke:—­

“We are willing to be your friends, Mrs. Chump, and we request that you will consider us in that light.  We simply do not consent to give you a name....”

“But, we’ll do without the name, my dear,” interposed Mrs. Chump.  “Ye’ll call me plain Martha, which is almost mother, and not a bit of ’t.  There—­Cornelia, my love! what do ye say?”

“I can only reiterate my sister’s words, which demand no elucidation,” replied Cornelia.

The forlorn woman turned her lap towards the youngest.

“Ad’la! ye sweet little cajoler!  And don’t use great cartwheels o’ words that leave a body crushed.”

Adela was suffering from a tendency to levity, which she knew to be unbefitting the occasion, and likely to defeat its significance.  She said:  “I am sure, Mrs. Chump, we are very much attached to you as Mrs. Chump; but after a certain period of life, marriage does make people ridiculous, and, as much for your sake as our own, we would advise you to discard a notion that cannot benefit anybody.  Believe in our attachment; and we shall see you here now and then, and correspond with you when you are away.  And...”

“Oh, ye puss! such an eel as y’ are!” Mrs. Chump cried out.  “What are ye doin’ but sugarin’ the same dose, miss!  Be qu’t!  It’s a traitor that makes what’s nasty taste agree’ble.  D’ye think my stomach’s a fool?  Ye may wheedle the mouth, but not the stomach.”

At this offence there fell a dead silence.  Wilfrid gazed on them all indifferently, waiting for the moment to strike a final blow.

When she had grasped the fact that Pity did not sit in the assembly, Mrs. Chump rose.

“Oh! if I haven’t been sitting among three owls and a raven,” she exclaimed.  Then she fussed at her gown.  “I wish ye good day, young ladus, and mayhap ye’d like to be interduced to No. 2 yourselves, some fine mornin’?  Prov’dence can wait.  There’s a patient hen on the eggs of all of ye!  I wouldn’t marry Pole now—­not if he was to fall flat and howl for me.  Mr. Wilfrud, I wish ye good-bye.  Ye’ve done your work.  I’ll be out of this house in half-an-hour.”