the male sex; and the consequence was, we did
nothing but quarrel, especially at dinner-time.
How can you expect four women to dine together
alone every day, and not quarrel?  We are such
fools, we can't entertain each other at table.
You see I don't think much of my own sex, Mr.
Hartright—which will you have, tea or coffee?
—no woman does think much of her own sex,
although few of them confess it as freely as I do.
Dear me, you look puzzled.  Why? Are you
wondering what you will have for breakfast? or
are you surprised at my careless way of talking?
In the first case, I advise you, as a friend, to
have nothing to do with that cold ham at your
elbow, and to wait till the omelette comes in.
In the second case, I will give you some tea to
compose your spirits, and do all a woman can
(which is very little, by-the-by) to hold my
tongue."

She handed me my cup of tea, laughing gaily.
Her light flow of talk, and her lively familiarity
of manner with a total stranger, were accompanied
by an unaffected naturalness and an easy
inborn confidence in herself and her position,
which would have secured her the respect of the
most audacious man breathing. While it was
impossible to be formal and reserved in her company,
it was more than impossible to take the faintest
vestige of a liberty with her, even in thought.
I felt this instinctively, even while I caught the
infection of her own bright gaiety of spirits—even
while I did my best to answer her in her own
frank, lively way.

"Yes, yes," she said, when I had suggested
the only explanation I could offer, to account
for my perplexed looks, "I understand. You
are such a perfect stranger in the house, that
you are puzzled by my familiar references to the
worthy inhabitants.  Natural enough: I ought
to have thought of it before.  At any rate, I
can set it right now.  Suppose I begin with
myself, so as to get done with that part of the
subject as soon as possible? My name is
Marian Halcombe; and I am as inaccurate, as
women usually are, in calling Mr. Fairlie my
uncle, and Miss Fairlie my sister. My mother
was twice married: the first time to Mr.
Halcombe, my father; the second time to Mr.
Fairlie, my half-sister's father.  Except that we
are both orphans, we are in every respect as unlike
each other as possible. My father was a poor man,
and Miss Fairlie's father was a rich man.  I have
got nothing, and she is an heiress.  I am dark and
ugly, and she is fair and pretty.  Everybody
thinks me crabbed and odd (with perfect justice);
and everybody thinks her sweet-tempered and
charming (with more justice still). In short,
she is an angel; and I am——Try some of
that marmalade, Mr. Hartright, and finish the
sentence, in the name of female propriety, for
yourself. What am I to tell you about Mr.
Fairlie? Upon my honour, I hardly know.  He
is sure to send for you after breakfast, and you
can study him for yourself.  In the mean time,
I may inform you, first, that he is the late Mr.
Fairlie's younger brother; secondly, that he is a
single man; and, thirdly, that he is Miss Fairlie's
guardian.  I won't live without her, and she
can't live without me; and that is how I come
to be at Limmeridge House.  My sister and I are
honestly fond of each other; which, you will
say, is perfectly unaccountable, under the
circumstances, and I quite agree with you—but so
it is.  You must please both of us, Mr. Hartright,
or please neither of us; and, what is still
more trying, you will be thrown entirely upon
our society. Mrs. Vesey is an excellent person,
who possesses all the cardinal virtues, and counts
for nothing; and Mr. Fairlie is too great an
invalid to be a companion for anybody.  I don't
know what is the matter with him, and the
doctors don't know what is the matter with
him, and be doesn't know himself what is the
matter with him.  We all say it's on the nerves,
and we none of us know what we mean when
we say it.  However, I advise you to humour
his little peculiarities, when you see him today.
Admire his collection of coins, prints, and water-
colour drawings, and you will win his heart.
Upon my word, if you can be contented with a
quiet country life, I don't see why you should
not get on very well here.  From breakfast to
lunch, Mr. Fairlie's drawings will occupy you.
After lunch, Miss Fairlie and I shoulder our
sketch-books, and go out to misrepresent nature,
under your directions. Drawing is her favourite
whim, mind, not mine. Women can't draw—
their minds are too flighty, and their eyes are
too inattentive. No matter—my sister likes it; so
I waste paint and spoil paper, for her sake, as
composedly as any woman in England.  As for
the evenings, I think we can help you through
them. Miss Fairlie plays delightfully. For my own
poor part, I don't know one note of music from
the other; but I can match you at chess,
backgammon, écarté, and (with the inevitable female
drawbacks) even at billiards as well. What do
you think of the programme? Can you reconcile
yourself to our quiet, regular life? or do
you mean to be restless, and secretly thirst for
change and adventure, in the humdrum
atmosphere of Limmeridge House?"

She had run on thus far, in her gracefully
bantering way, with no other interruptions on
my part than the unimportant replies which
politeness required of me. The turn of the
expression, however, in her last question, or rather
the one chance word, "adventure," lightly as
it fell from her lips, recalled my thoughts to
my meeting with the woman in white, and
urged me to discover the connexion which the
stranger's own reference to Mrs. Fairlie
informed me must once have existed between the
nameless fugitive from the Asylum, and the
former mistress of Limmeridge House.

"Even if I were the most restless of
mankind," I said, "I should be in no danger of
thirsting after adventures for some time to come.
The very night before I arrived at this house,
I met with an adventure; and the wonder and
excitement of it, I can assure you, Miss
Halcombe, will last me for the whole term of my
stay in Cumberland, if not for a much longer
period."