Mrs. Potts, who had naturally hung about the door below, did herself the honour of seeing the couple into the hansom, and heard the order—“Haymarket theatre.”
“So she had got her way,” said the charwoman, as she stood boldly in the doorway and looked after them. Then she went upstairs to Mr. Wynne’s room and finished the sherry, poured herself out a cup of coffee, which she sipped at her leisure, as she sat comfortably over the fire in Mr. Wynne’s own chair. One half of the world certainly does not know how the other half lives!
“Really, it is very ridiculous of you to be so strait-laced and grumpy, Laurence!” said his wife. “Think of all I am going to relinquish for your sake!”—touching her furs. “This mantle, which makes other women green with envy, cost nearly six hundred pounds!”
“Six hundred fiddlesticks!” he echoed incredulously.
“You can see the bill, if you like.”
“You ought to be ashamed to wear it, Maddie!”
“Not at all, my dear. It is for the good of trade. If some people did not buy and wear fine feathers, what would become of trade?”
“Six hundred pounds! More than he could earn in twelve months! And she paid that for an opera-cloak!”
“You really must make yourself agreeable, Laurence. This may be the last time I shall play the fairy princess, before I go back to my rags. No, no, I don’t mean that.”
“Something tells me, all the same, that this will not be your last appearance in your present character. Not that I question for a moment your good intentions, Maddie, or disbelieve your word. But I have a presentiment—a sort of depressing sensation that I cannot account for—that, far from your returning home to-morrow, our lives will somehow have drifted farther apart than ever.”