Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy had glanced at the passive face of Mr. Rigg, and had taken out his snuffbox and tapped it, but had put it again unopened as an indulgence which, however clarifying to the judgment, was unsuited to the occasion. “I shouldn’t wonder if Featherstone had better feelings than any of us gave him credit for,” he observed, in the ear of his wife. “This funeral shows a thought about everybody: it looks well when a man wants to be followed by his friends, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed of them. I should be all the better pleased if he’d left lots of small legacies. They may be uncommonly useful to fellows in a small way.”

“Everything is as handsome as could be, crape and silk and everything,” said Mrs. Vincy, contentedly.