Dinnerbeingover，Bathsheba，forwantofabettercompanion，hadaskedLiddytocomeandsitwithher。Themouldypilewasdrearyinwinter-timebeforethecandleswerelightedandtheshuttersclosed；theatmosphereoftheplaceseemedasoldasthewalls；everynookbehindthefurniturehadatemperatureofitsown，forthefirewasnotkindledinthispartofthehouseearlyintheday；andBathsheba’snewpiano，whichwasanoldoneinotherannals，lookedparticularlyslopingandoutoflevelonthewarpedfloorbeforenightthrewashadeoveritslessprominentanglesandhidtheunpleasantnessLiddy，likealittlebrook，thoughshallow，wasalwaysrippling；herpresencehadnotsomuchweightastotaskthought，andyetenoughtoexerciseit。
OnthetablelayanoldquartoBible，boundinleather。Liddylookingatitsaid，——
`Didyoueverfindout，miss，whoyouaregoingtomarrybymeansoftheBibleandkey？’
`Don’tbesofoolish，Liddy。Asifsuchthingscouldbe。’
`Well，there’sagooddealinit，allthesame。’