In the handsome parlour of Cressingham Abbey, commonly called
White-Ladies, on a dull afternoon in January, 1712, sat Madam and
her granddaughter, Rhoda, sipping tea. Madam-and nothing else, her
dependants would have thought it an impertinence to call her Mrs
Furnival. Never was Empress of all the Russias more despotic in her
wide domain than Madam in her narrow one. As to Mr Furnival-for
there had been such a person, though it was a good while since-he
was a mere appendage to Madam's greatness-useful in the way of
collecting rents and seeing to repairs, and capable of being put
away when done with. He was a little, meek, unobtrusive man, fully
(and happily) convinced of his own insignificance, and ready to
sink himself in his superb wife as he might receive orders.
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