Everybody thought so. She went on as if she did; but now,--
no, I don't know. You see, she's such a cool hand, she's such a deep one--
you can't tell. There's no telling with that sort. All I can say is, it
looked uncommonly like the real thing. We all thought so at the time. The
symptoms were right enough--or wrong enough, you'll say--and then, look at
her since! She's stuck to him through everything--good report, bad report,
everything. She's chucked her people--or been chucked. Had four beautiful
sisters--glowing, upstanding, fine girls, all of them; and chucked. Old
father, in the City: chucked. Mother, big, handsome, hot-tempered:
chucked. And all for Nevile, who (between ourselves) ain't worth it. He's
not a bad one, but he's not a good one, either. He's got a cruel temper,
Nevile has--like that ghastly wife of his. But--" he cried, opening his
arms--"there you are. They're like that, her sort. Mighty quiet about it,
you know; was turned into the streets, you may say; father, mother,
sisters, all showed their backs. What does she do? Sets her teeth
together, looks straight ahead, and takes old Nevile. And here she is now
oh, as--right as rain. What a girl, eh?"
Mrs.
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