"And of course it is a discredit to his doctrines," said Mrs. Sprague, who was elderly, and old-fashioned in her opinions.
"People will not make a boast of being methodistical in Middlemarch for a good while to come."
"I think we must not set down people's bad actions to their religion," said falcon-faced Mrs. Plymdale, who had been listening hitherto.
"Oh, my dear, we are forgetting," said Mrs. Sprague.
"We ought not to be talking of this before you."
"I am sure I have no reason to be partial," said Mrs. Plymdale, coloring.
"It's true Mr. Plymdale has always been on good terms with Mr. Bulstrode, and Harriet Vincy was my friend long before she married him.
But I have always kept my own opinions and told her where she was wrong, poor thing.
Still, in point of religion, I must say, Mr. Bulstrode might have done what he has, and worse, and yet have been a man of no religion.
I don't say that there has not been a little too much of that—I like moderation myself.
But truth is truth.
The men tried at the assizes are not all over-religious, I suppose."
"Well," said Mrs. Hackbutt, wheeling adroitly, "all I can say is, that I think she ought to separate from him."
"I can't say that," said Mrs. Sprague.
"She took him for better or worse, you know."
"But 'worse' can never mean finding out that your husband is fit for Newgate," said Mrs. Hackbutt.
"Fancy living with such a man!
I should expect to be poisoned."
"Yes, I think myself it is an encouragement to crime if such men are to be taken care of and waited on by good wives," said Mrs. Tom Toller.
"And a good wife poor Harriet has been," said Mrs. Plymdale.
"She thinks her husband the first of men.
It's true he has never denied her anything."
"Well, we shall see what she will do," said Mrs. Hackbutt.
"I suppose she knows nothing yet, poor creature. I do hope and trust I shall not see her, for I should be frightened to death lest I should say anything about her husband.
Do you think any hint has reached her?"
"I should hardly think so," said Mrs. Tom Toller. "We hear that he is ill, and has never stirred out of the house since the meeting on Thursday; but she was with her girls at church yesterday, and they had new Tuscan bonnets.
Her own had a feather in it.
I have never seen that her religion made any difference in her dress."
"She wears very neat patterns always," said Mrs. Plymdale, a little stung.
"And that feather I know she got dyed a pale lavender on purpose to be consistent.
I must say it of Harriet that she wishes to do right."
"As to her knowing what has happened, it can't be kept from her long," said Mrs. Hackbutt.
"The Vincys know, for Mr. Vincy was at the meeting.
It will be a great blow to him.
There is his daughter as well as his sister."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Sprague.
"Nobody supposes that Mr. Lydgate can go on holding up his head in Middlemarch, things look so black about the thousand pounds he took just at that man's death.
It really makes one shudder."
"Pride must have a fall," said Mrs. Hackbutt.
"I am not so sorry for Rosamond Vincy that was as I am for her aunt," said Mrs. Plymdale.
"She needed a lesson."
"I suppose the Bulstrodes will go and live abroad somewhere," said Mrs. Sprague.
"That is what is generally done when there is anything disgraceful in a family."
"And a most deadly blow it will be to Harriet," said Mrs. Plymdale.
"If ever a woman was crushed, she will be.
I pity her from my heart.
And with all her faults, few women are better.
From a girl she had the neatest ways, and was always good-hearted, and as open as the day.
You might look into her drawers when you would—always the same.
And so she has brought up Kate and Ellen.