“Yes, that’s quite true, Emma. She may thank me for all she’s got; I found her out and was the first to fire the train. Oh, yes, all this is true enough. She’s left Tom—so I hear.”
“More shame to her. He was the best of husbands, and doated on the ground she walked. Everybody knows that.”
“What matters? She’s got into good quarters, is now so far removed from him, so much above him, that she’s sent him to the right about. It’s the way of the world, my darling—has always been so, and always will be, I suppose.”
“Well, you’ve put her into a good thing, and I daresay she is grateful.”
“Bah!” exclaimed Peace, “don’t be a fool, Emma. Grateful indeed! She didn’t condescend to even honour me with a passing notice as she entered Broxbridge Hall.”
“Didn’t she, though?”
“No, not even a nod.”
“The proud, ungrateful upstart.”
“Here’s my little drum,” said Peace, opening the door of the house with his latch-key. “Come in and see Mary.”
The girl did as she was bid, and the three were in a short time after this in familiar converse.