Hans Caspar turned round.
"With that woman to run him, you mean?"
"What woman's that?"
"His wife."
It was Mr. Trupp's turn to look away.
"She's the sort for him," he mumbled warily.
The other broke in with vehement enthusiasm.
"The sort for him!—why, if I'd married a woman like that—with a back-bone like steel, and the jaws of a rat-trap—I'd have been a Napoleon."
Mr. Trupp's face was still averted. Its naturally shrewd expression had for the moment a satirical touch.
"You think he's a lucky fellow to get her?" said the other.