On the other side of the room were a likeness of Mr. Eaton
in hunting array, with the dogs, and a mezzotint of the Deluge.
Mr. Furze had just awaked on the Sunday afternoon following the day
of which the history is partly given in the first chapter.
"My dear," said his wife, "I have been thinking a good deal of
Catharine. She is not quite what I could wish."
"No," replied Mr. Furze, with a yawn.
"To begin with, she uses bad language. I was really quite shocked
yesterday to hear the extremely vulgar word, almost--almost,--I do
not know what to call it--profane, I may say, which she applied to
her dog when talking of it to Mr. Gosford. Then she goes in the
foundry; and I firmly believe that all the money which has been
spent on her music is utterly thrown away."
"The thing is--what is to be done?"
"Now, I have a plan."
In order to make Mrs. Furze's plan fully intelligible, it may be as
well to explain that, up to the year 1840, the tradesmen of
Eastthorpe had lived at their shops. But a year or two before that
date some houses had been built at the north end of the town and
called "The Terrace." A new doctor had taken one, the brewer
another, and a third had been taken by the grocer, a man reputed to
be very well off, who not only did a large retail business, but
supplied the small shops in the villages round.
"Well, my dear, what is your plan?"
"Your connection is extending, and you want more room.
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