“Sister Glegg,” said Mrs Pullet, in a pleading tone, drawing on her gloves again, and stroking the fingers in an agitated manner, “if you’ve got anything disrespectful to say o’ Mr Carr, I do beg of you as you won’t say it to me. I know what he was,” she added, with a sigh; “his breath was short to that degree as you could hear him two rooms off.”
“Sophy!” said Mrs Glegg, with indignant disgust, “you do talk o’ people’s complaints till it’s quite undecent. But I say again, as I said before, I didn’t come away from home to talk about acquaintances, whether they’d short breath or long. If we aren’t come together for one to hear what the other ’ull do to save a sister and her children from the parish, I shall go back. One can’t act without the other, I suppose; it isn’t to be expected as I should do everything.”
“Well, Jane,” said Mrs Pullet, “I don’t see as you’ve been so very forrard at doing. So far as I know, this is the first time as here you’ve been, since it’s been known as the bailiff’s in the house; and I was here yesterday, and looked at all Bessy’s linen and things, and I told her I’d buy in the spotted tablecloths. I couldn’t speak fairer; for as for the teapot as she doesn’t want to go out o’ the family, it stands to sense I can’t do with two silver teapots, not if it hadn’t a straight spout, but the spotted damask I was allays fond on.”
“I wish it could be managed so as my teapot and chany and the best castors needn’t be put up for sale,” said poor Mrs Tulliver, beseechingly, “and the sugar-tongs the first things ever I bought.”
“But that can’t be helped, you know,” said Mr Glegg. “If one o’ the family chooses to buy ’em in, they can, but one thing must be bid for as well as another.”
“And it isn’t to be looked for,” said uncle Pullet, with unwonted independence of idea, “as your own family should pay more for things nor they’ll fetch. They may go for an old song by auction.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Mrs Tulliver, “to think o’ my chany being sold i’ that way, and I bought it when I was married, just as you did yours, Jane and Sophy; and I know you didn’t like mine, because o’ the sprig, but I was fond of it; and there’s never been a bit broke, for I’ve washed it myself; and there’s the tulips on the cups, and the roses, as anybody might go and look at ’em for pleasure. You wouldn’t like your chany to go for an old song and be broke to pieces, though yours has got no colour in it, Jane,—it’s all white and fluted, and didn’t cost so much as mine. And there’s the castors, sister Deane, I can’t think but you’d like to have the castors, for I’ve heard you say they’re pretty.”
“Well, I’ve no objection to buy some of the best things,” said Mrs Deane, rather loftily; “we can do with extra things in our house.”
“Best things!” exclaimed Mrs Glegg, with severity, which had gathered intensity from her long silence. “It drives me past patience to hear you all talking o’ best things, and buying in this, that, and the other, such as silver and chany. You must bring your mind to your circumstances, Bessy, and not be thinking o’ silver and chany; but whether you shall get so much as a flock-bed to lie on, and a blanket to cover you, and a stool to sit on. You must remember, if you get ’em, it’ll be because your friends have bought ’em for you, for you’re dependent upon them for everything; for your husband lies there helpless, and hasn’t got a penny i’ the world to call his own. And it’s for your own good I say this, for it’s right you should feel what your state is, and what disgrace your husband’s brought on your own family, as you’ve got to look to for everything, and be humble in your mind.”
Mrs Glegg paused, for speaking with much energy for the good of others is naturally exhausting.