verlooked the fact that she
was human. It was a grave comment on her ambition to be an 'ideal.'

So let us leave them, till we come upon the ashy fruit of which this
blooming sentimentalism is the seed.

It was past midnight when Mrs. Chump rushed to Arabella's room, and her
knock was heard vociferous at the door. The ladies, who were at work
upon diaries and letters, allowed her to thump and wonder whether she
had come to the wrong door, for a certain period; after which, Arabella
placidly unbolted her chamber, and Adela presented herself in the
passage to know the meaning of the noise.

"Oh! ye poor darlin's, I've heard ut all, I have."

This commencement took the colour from their cheeks. Arabella invited
her inside, and sent Adela for Cornelia.

"Oh, and ye poor deers!" cried Mrs. Chump to Arabella, who remarked:
"Pray wait till my sisters come;" causing the woman to stare and
observe: "If ye're not as cold as the bottom of a pot that naver felt
fire." She repeated this to Cornelia and Adela as an accusation, and
then burst on "My heart's just breakin' for ye, and ye shall naver
want bread, eh! and roast beef, and my last bottle of Port ye'll share,
though ye've no ideea what a lot o' thoughts o' poor Chump's under
that cork, and it'll be a waste on you. Oh! and that monster of a Mr.
Paricles that's got ye in his power and's goin' to be the rroon of
ye--shame to 'm! Your father's told me; and, oh! my darlin' garls, don't
think ut my fault. For, Pole--Pole--"

Mrs. Chump was choked by her grief. The ladies, unbending to some
curiosity, eliminated from her gasps and sobs that Mr. Pole had, in the
solitude of his library below, accused her of causing the defection of
Mr. Pericles, and traced his possible ruin to it, confessing, that in
the way of business, he was at Mr. Pericles' mercy.

"And in such a passion with me!" Mrs. Chump wrung her hands. "What could
I do to Mr. Paricles? He isn't one o' the men that I can kiss; and Pole
shouldn't wish me. And Pole settin' down his rroon to me! What'll I do?
My dears! I do feel for ye, for I feel I'd feel myself such a beast,
without money, d'ye see? It's the most horrible thing in the world. It's
like no candle in the darrk. And I, ye know, I know I'd naver forgive
annybody that took my money; and what'll Pole think of me? For oh! ye
may call riches temptation, but poverty's punishment; and I heard a
young curate say that from the pulpit, and he was lean enough to know