The coffin was inspected inside and
out, was admired and appraised, Mrs. Peckover being at hand to check
the estimates. At the same time every most revolting detail of the
dead woman's last illness was related and discussed and mused over
and exclaimed upon. 'A lovely corpse, considerin' her years,' was
the general opinion. Then all went upstairs again, and once more
refreshed themselves. The house smelt like a bar-room.
'Everythink most respectable, I'm sure!' remarked the female
mourners to each other, as they crowded together in the parlour.
'An' so it had ought to be!' exclaimed one, in an indignant tone,
such as is reserved for the expression of offence among educated
people, but among the poor--the London poor, least original and
least articulate beings within the confines of civilisation--has
also to do duty for friendly emphasis. 'If Mrs. Peckover can't
afford to do things respectable, who can?'
And the speaker looked defiantly about her, as if daring
contradiction. But only approving murmurs replied. Mrs. Peckover
had, in fact, the reputation of being wealthy; she was always
inheriting, always accumulating what her friends called 'interess,'
never expending as other people needs must.
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