I remember one night being in the Fair myself, at an evening party.
I observed old Miss Toady there also present, single out for her
special attentions and flattery little Mrs. Briefless, the
barrister's wife, who is of a good family certainly, but, as we all
know, is as poor as poor can be.
What, I asked in my own mind, can cause this obsequiousness on the
part of Miss Toady; has Briefless got a county court, or has his
wife had a fortune left her? Miss Toady explained presently, with
that simplicity which distinguishes all her conduct. "You know,"
she said, "Mrs Briefless is granddaughter of Sir John Redhand, who
is so ill at Cheltenham that he can't last six months. Mrs.
Briefless's papa succeeds; so you see she will be a baronet's
daughter." And Toady asked Briefless and his wife to dinner the very
next week.
If the mere chance of becoming a baronet's daughter can procure a
lady such homage in the world, surely, surely we may respect the
agonies of a young woman who has lost the opportunity of becoming a
baronet's wife. Who would have dreamed of Lady Crawley dying so
soon? She was one of those sickly women that might have lasted
these ten years--Rebecca thought to herself, in all the woes of
repentance--and I might have been my lady! I might have led that
old man whither I would. I might have thanked Mrs. Bute for her
patronage, and Mr.
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