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 to say that she could not stay longer, because she was going to see poor Rosamond.

“Why do you say ‘poor Rosamond’?” said Mrs Plymdale, a round-eyed sharp little woman, liked a tamed falcon.

“She is so pretty, and has been brought up in such thoughtlessness. The mother, you know, had always that levity about her, which makes me anxious for the children.”

“Well, Harriet, if I am to speak my mind,” said Mrs Plymdale, with emphasis, “I must say, anybody would suppose you and Mr Bulstrode would be delighted with what has happened, for you have done everything to put Mr Lydgate forward.”

“Selina, what do you mean?” said Mrs Bulstrode in genuine surprise. “Not but what I am truly thankful for Ned’s sake,” said Mrs Plymdale. “He could certainly better afford to keep such a wife than some people can; but I should wish him to look elsewhere. Still a mother has anxieties, and some young men would take to a bad life in consequence. Besides, if I was obliged to speak, I should say I was not fond of strangers coming into a town.”

“I don’t know, Selina,” said Mrs Bulstrode, with a little emphasis in her turn. “Mr Bulstrode was a stranger here at one time. Abraham and Moses were strangers in the land, and we are told to entertain strangers. And especially,” she added, after a slight pause, “when they are unexceptionable.”

“I was not speaking in a religious sense, Harriet. I spoke as a mother.”

“Selina, I am sure you have never heard me say anything against a niece of mine marrying your son.”

“Oh, it is pride in Miss Vincy—I am sure it is nothing else,” said Mrs Plymdale, who had never before given all her confidence to “Harriet” on this subject. “No young man in Middlemarch was good enough for her: I have heard her mother say as much. That is not a Christian spirit, I think. But now, from all I hear, she has found a man as proud as herself.”

“You don’t mean that there is anything between Rosamond and Mr Lydgate?” said Mrs Bulstrode, rather mortified at finding out her own ignorance.

“Is it possible you don’t know, Harriet?”

“Oh, I go about so little; and I am not fond of gossip; I really never hear any. You see so many people that I don’t see. Your circle is rather different from ours.”

“Well, but your own niece and Mr Bulstrode’s great favourite—and yours too, I am sure, Harriet! I thought, at one time, you meant him for Kate, when she is a little older.”

“I don’t believe there can be anything serious at present,” said Mrs Bulstrode. “My brother would certainly have told me.”

“Well, people have different ways, but I understand that nobody can see Miss Vincy and Mr Lydgate together without taking them to