 on the other side of the wall in the
person of Brother Jonah.
    But their watch in the wainscoated parlour was sometimes varied by the
presence of other guests from far or near. Now that Peter Featherstone was
up-stairs, his property could be discussed with all that local enlightenment to
be found on the spot: some rural and Middlemarch neighbours expressed much
agreement with the family and sympathy with their interest against the Vincys,
and feminine visitors were even moved to tears, in conversation with Mrs. Waule,
when they recalled the fact that they themselves had been disappointed in times
past by codicils and marriages for spite on the part of ungrateful elderly
gentlemen, who, it might have been supposed, had been spared for something
better. Such conversation paused suddenly, like an organ when the bellows are
let drop, if Mary Garth came into the room; and all eyes were turned on her as a
possible legatee, or one who might get access to iron chests.
    But the younger men who were relatives or connections of the family, were
disposed to admire her in this problematic light, as a girl who showed much
conduct, and who among all the chances that were flying might turn out to be at
least a moderate prize. Hence she had her share of compliments and polite
attentions.
    Especially from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, a distinguished bachelor and
auctioneer of those parts, much concerned in the sale of land and cattle: a
public character, indeed, whose name was seen on widely-distributed placards,
and who might reasonably be sorry for those who did not know of him. He was
second cousin to Peter Featherstone, and had been treated by him with more
amenity than any other relative, being useful in matters of business; and in
that programme of his funeral which the old man had himself dictated, he had
been named as a Bearer. There was no odious cupidity in Mr. Borthrop Trumbull -
nothing more than a sincere sense of his own merit, which, he was aware, in case
of rivalry might tell against competitors; so that if Peter Featherstone, who so
far as he, Trumbull, was concerned, had behaved like as good a soul as ever
breathed, should have done anything handsome by him, all he could say was, that
he had never fished and fawned, but had advised him to the best of his
experience, which now extended over twenty years from the time of his
apprenticeship at fifteen, and was likely to yield a knowledge of no
surreptitious kind. His admiration was far from being confined to himself, but
was accustomed professionally as well as privately to
