You must say, 'Well, it's rum, it's
rummy,' or how you like to put it--'but she's got a head on her shoulders,
and I suppose she knows what she's doing. I suppose she's seen her way.'
For she's all right, you know, Mrs. Devereux; she's as right as rain. It's
irregular, dashed irregular--but, by George, I'll tell you this, Nevile
was in a bad way when he first met her; and she's pulled him through. He's
steady enough now, is Nevile. Don't drink--nor do other things. He
threatened to be a waster in his day; but he's no waster now. She did
that, you know; she pulled him through. Why, bless your heart, Mrs.
Devereux, he used to rave about her--rave, and chuck himself about on
sofas, and cry like anything, and bite his nails down. There never was
such a girl under heaven, he used to say. He called her a goddess. Love!
Oh, Lord! And I assure you, on my solemn oath, that he never did a better
day's work in his life, nor any girl a finer, than when he put in his word
for himself, poor devil, and she said, 'Yes, I'll do it.'"
"Did she--" Mrs. Devereux asked, or began to ask, and he shrugged, and
exclaimed,
"Ah! There you have me. Now you've done it. I don't know. That's the fact
--I don't know.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117