"You mean I don't look the sort to stand any nonsense." She nodded, grimly amused. "You're right. That's me. I'm chapel." Then she let herself go. "I'm fond of Ned," she flashed. "I wouldn't have married him else, for all his family. He's reel gentry, Ned is. I don't mean his mother being Lady Blanche, I'm not that kind. I mean in him—here." She put her hand on her chest. "I know I'm not his sort. But I can help him. And he needs help. Think any of them could support him up?" with scorn. "Too flabby by half. Can't support emselves, some of em. Lays on their backs in bed and drinks tea out of a spout before they can get up o mornings. I know. My sister's in service." She stopped abruptly. "What do you think about it yourself? Straight now."
"I think," said Mr. Trupp, sententious and dour, "the only sensible thing he ever did in his life was to marry you."
She eyed him shrewdly, sweetly. Then the hard young woman softened, and her face became beautiful, the lovely colour deepening.
She was still wearing the blue over-all in which he had first seen her.
"You see me how I am," she said.
"I can guess," answered Mr. Trupp.
"Will you see me through?"
"With pleasure."
"I don't want no one else, only you. Mr. Pigott—the schoolmaster—told me of you."
Mr. Trupp nodded.