however, that we have suffered the worst already, in discovering that people can be displeased with you.”

“That being so extremely rare a lot in this world, and especially in the world of a village,” replied Hope, “I really do not know what to expect as the last result of this affair, nor am I anxious to foresee. I never liked the sort of attachment that most of my neighbours have testified for me. It was to their honour in as far as it showed kindness of heart, but it was unreasonable: so unreasonable that I imagine the opposite feelings which are now succeeding may be just as much in excess. Suppose it should be so, Hester?”

“Well, what then?” she asked, sighing.

“Suppose our neighbours should send me to Coventry, and my patients should leave me so far as that we should not have enough to live on?”

“That would be persecution,” cried Hester, brightening. “I could bear persecution,—downright persecution.”

“You could bear seeing your husband torn by lions in the amphitheatre,” said Margaret, smiling, “but...”

“But a toss of Mrs Howell’s head is unendurable,” said Hope, with solemnity.

Hester looked down, blushing like a chidden child.

“But about this persecution,” said she. “What made you ask those questions just now?”

“I find my neighbours more angry with me than I could have supposed possible, my dear. I have been treated with great and growing rudeness for some days. In a place like this, you know, offences seldom come alone. If you do a thing which a village public does not approve, there will be offence in whatever else you say and do for some time after. And I suspect that is my case now. I may be mistaken, however; and whatever happens, I hope, my love, we shall all be to the last degree careful not to see offence where it is not intended.”

“Not to do the very thing we are suffering under ourselves,” observed Margaret.

“We will not watch our neighbours, and canvass their opinions of us by our own fireside,” said Hope. “We will conclude them all to be our friends till they give us clear evidence to the contrary. Shall it not be so, love?”

“I know what you mean,” said Hester, with some resentment in her voice and manner. “You cannot trust my temper in your affairs: and you are perfectly right. My temper is not to be trusted.”

“Very few are, in the first