The doctor's daughter regarded Catherine Leyburn, who during the last five years had made herself almost as distinct a figure in the popular imagination of a few Westmoreland valleys as Sister Dora among her Walsall miners, as a being of a totally different Order from herself.

She was glued to the side of her idol, but her shy, and awkward tongue could find hardly anything to say to her.

Catherine, however, talked away, gently stroking the while the girl's rough hand which lay on her knee, to the mingled pain and bliss of its owner, who was outraged by the contrast between her own ungainly member and Miss Leyburn's delicate fingers.
Mrs.Seaton was on the sofa beside Mrs.Thornburgh, amply avenging herself on the vicar's wife for any checks she might have received at tea.

Miss Barks, her sister, an old maid with a face that seemed to be perpetually peering forward, light colorless hair surmounted by a cap adorned with artificial nasturtiums, and white-lashed eyes armed with spectacles, was having her way with Mrs.Leyburn, inquiring into the household arrangements of Burwood with a cross-examining power which made the mild widow as pulp before her.
When the gentlemen entered, Mrs.Thornburgh looked round hastily.

She herself had opened that door into the garden.