The back parlour had been the schoolroom, and certainly never was there a more disconsolate apartment; every thing in it was common, every thing in it was old. The table was usually loaded with work, and work of the most ordinary and useful description; the walls were covered with paper, whose original colour and pattern had long since merged in a dingy brown; over this were hung up some unframed drawings, and some shelves on which were ranged all the old school books, grammars, Pinnock's catechisms, and one or two French novels that had belonged to a former governess. Curtains were considered a superfluity, and a form, with some common chairs, completed the furniture.
The remainder of Lady Anne's establishment consisted of a servant of all work, and a nondescript boy, called a page. Cooking there was as little as possible; and, the young ladies dressing each other, the unfortunate kitchen-maid contrived to get through the week; but, as she often observed on a Sunday to any dropping-in friend, she would not have stayed an hour but for her young mistresses.
In short, the whole of Lady Anne's household was the type of a system—it was false from beginning to end. It aimed at a position in society she lacked the means of retaining; comfort was sacrificed to show; and all the better and more natural emotions merged in vain speculations of aggrandisement. In nothing were the feelings of others consulted; but their opi-
