The penniless state in which she was left at her father's death, the want of a home save that accorded her at Castle Marling, even the hundred-pound note left in her hand by Mr.Carlyle, all had imbued her with a deep consciousness of humiliation, and, far from rebelling at or despising the small establishment, comparatively speaking, provided for her by Mr.Carlyle, she felt thankful to him for it.

But to be told continuously that this was more than he could afford, that she was in fact a blight upon his prospects, was enough to turn her heart to bitterness.

Oh, that she had had the courage to speak out openly to her husband, that he might, by a single word of earnest love and assurance, have taken the weight from her heart, and rejoiced it with the truth--that all these miserable complaints were but the phantoms of his narrow-minded sister! But Isabel never did; when Miss Corny lapsed into her grumbling mood, she would hear in silence, or gently bend her aching forehead in her hands, never retorting.
Never before Mr.Carlyle was the lady's temper vented upon her; plenty fell to his own share, when he and his sister were alone; and he had become so accustomed to the sort of thing all his life--had got used to it, like the eels do to skinning--that it went, as the saying runs, in at one ear and out at the other, making no impression.

He never dreamt that Isabel also received her portion.
It was a morning early in April.

Joyce sat, in its gray dawn, over a large fire in the dressing-room of Lady Isabel Carlyle, her hands clasped to pain, and the tears coursing down her cheeks.