hat pity was shared by all the neighbourhood, gentle and simple.
Time was, just before her marriage, when Primrose was accounted a
foolish and sinful maid enough, but married she had been, and into a
highly-respected family, for the Lears' graves had lain in the next best
position to those of the gentry for many generations, and, for their
sakes more than for hers, tributes flowed in to the funeral.

This poor, pale Primrose, who had died so young, though not unmarried,
was laid to rest, with babe on arm, only a few days before the Flora
dance, and her friend Cherry, who would none the less foot it gaily on
that occasion, attended, with a length of black crape round her buxom
waist and her eyes swollen by the easy tears of an easy nature.

Loveday was not present, for, friendly as she had ever been with Mrs.
Lear, the dead girl's petulance lay between them now; memory of it
become to Loveday a pang of pity, and to Mrs. Lear a sacred duty.
Nevertheless, an odd notion, such as Loveday was apt to take, made her
feel that some tie, slight, but persistent, between Primrose and herself
drew her, at least, to give the last look possible from behind the hedge
screening the road.

There, hidden as a bird, she saw how highly the world had thought of the
girl to whom she had dared feel a flashing sense of superiority; she saw
how true respectability is to be admired. For never at any funeral, save
that of actual gentry, had there been seen so many of those elegant
floral tokens of esteem which reflect, perhaps, even more honour upon
those who bestow them than upon the dead who receive them. Primrose may
have been a poor creature enough, but the Lears had always held their
heads high among their fellows, without ever trying to push above their
station. No unseemly ambitions, no fantastic desires, had ever drawn
just censure upon Upper Farm, and wreaths and crosses decked with
tasteful streamers bore witness to this fact. There was actually an
exquisite white wreath from Miss Le Pettit of Ignores, laid proudly upon
the humbler greener offerings of farmers and fisher folk, overpowering
with its elegance even an artificial wreath under glass which came from
the Bugletown corn-chandler, who was Mr. Lear's chief customer.

Loveday, watching, knew suddenly that, when her time came, she would be
an alien in death, as she was in life; that never for her would these
costly tokens of respect be gathered. Yet, instead of this thought
humbl