"No, it is so good of you," said Mrs. Prentice, "to give us the pleasure of your company."
"It is a great pleasure to me," said Mrs. Marsden; "and I always thoroughly enjoy myself."
Mrs. Prentice liked her better in her adversity than in her prosperity. She found it easy to join her husband in his admiration of the fortitude and dignity of Mrs. Marsden as an ill-used wife and a broken-down shopkeeper—now that the fable of her colossal brain-power was finally shattered. Perhaps Mrs. Prentice's naturally kind heart had never opened to Mrs. Marsden till the day when Mr. Prentice said that his idol was acting like a fool.
Their guest used to eat sparingly, although the hostess pressed her to taste of every dish; and she scarcely drank more than half a glass of wine, although the host had brought out his most highly prized vintage; but she talked so cheerfully, so calmly, and so wisely, that her society was as charming as it was welcome. Mr. Prentice, beaming on her and listening with deference to her lightest words, was especially delighted each time that he recognized something like a flash of the old light.
Once they were discussing a rumour that had just reached Mallingbridge. It was said that the War Office had purchased a tract of land on the downs, and proposed to establish a large permanent camp up there.
"Half a dozen regiments, with all their followers—an invasion!"
"It will be dreadful for the town," said Mrs. Prentice. "Utterly destroy its character."
"That's what I think," said Mr. Prentice. "Do no good to anybody."
"Do you know," said Mrs. Marsden, "I am inclined to disagree. Since the soldiers came to Ellerford, trade—I am told—has picked up wonderfully."
"Ah, yes," said Prentice. "But that's a trifling affair—a very small camp, compared with what this would be."