This view of her position was naturally far from cheering to Mrs Tulliver. Her imagination was not easily acted on, but she could not help thinking that her case was a hard one, since it appeared that other people thought it hard.
“I’m sure, sister, I can’t help myself,” she said, urged by the fear lest her anticipated misfortunes might be held retributive, to take comprehensive review of her past conduct. “There’s no woman strives more for her children; and I’m sure at scouring-time this Lady-day as I’ve had all the bedhangings taken down I did as much as the two gells put together; and there’s the last elder-flower wine I’ve made—beautiful! I allays offer it along with the sherry, though sister Glegg will have it I’m so extravagant; and as for liking to have my clothes tidy, and not go a fright about the house, there’s nobody in the parish can say anything against me in respect o’ backbiting and making mischief, for I don’t wish anybody any harm; and nobody loses by sending me a porkpie, for my pies are fit to show with the best o’ my neighbours’; and the linen’s so in order as if I was to die to-morrow I shouldn’t be ashamed. A woman can do no more nor she can.”
“But it’s all o’ no use, you know, Bessy,” said Mrs Pullet, holding her head on one side, and fixing her eyes pathetically on her sister, “if your husband makes away with his money. Not but what if you was sold up, and other folks bought your furniture, it’s a comfort to think as you’ve kept it well rubbed. And there’s the linen, with your maiden mark on, might go all over the country. It ’ud be a sad pity for our family.” Mrs Pullet shook her head slowly.
“But what can I do, sister?” said Mrs Tulliver. “Mr Tulliver’s not a man to be dictated to,—not if I was to go to the parson and get by heart what I should tell my husband for the best. And I’m sure I don’t pretend to know anything about putting out money and all that. I could never see into men’s business as sister Glegg does.”
“Well, you’re like me in that, Bessy,” said Mrs Pullet; “and I think it ’ud be a deal more becoming o’ Jane if she’d have that pier-glass rubbed oftener,—there was ever so many spots on it last week,—instead o’ dictating to folks as have more comings in than she ever had, and telling ’em what they’re to do with their money. But Jane and me were allays contrairy; she would have striped things, and I like spots. You like a spot too, Bessy; we allays hung together i’ that.”
“Yes, Sophy,” said Mrs Tulliver, “I remember our having a blue ground with a white spot both alike,—I’ve got a bit in a bed-quilt now; and if you would but go and see sister Glegg, and persuade her to make it up with Tulliver, I should take it very kind of you. You was allays a good sister to me.”
“But the right thing ’ud be for Tulliver to go and make it up with her himself, and say he was sorry for speaking so rash. If he’s borrowed money of her, he shouldn’t be above that,” said Mrs Pullet, whose partiality did not blind her to principles; she did not forget what was due to people of independent fortune.
“It’s no use talking o’ that,” said poor Mrs Tulliver, almost peevishly. “If I was to go down on my bare knees on the gravel to Tulliver, he’d never humble himself.”
“Well, you can’t expect me to persuade Jane to beg pardon,” said Mrs Pullet. “Her temper’s beyond everything; it’s well if it doesn’t carry her off her mind, though there never was any of our family went to a madhouse.”
“I’m not thinking of her begging pardon,” said Mrs Tulliver. “But if she’d just take no notice, and not call her money in; as it’s not so much for one sister to ask of another; time ’ud mend things, and Tulliver ’ud forget all about it, and they’d be friends again.”