“It serves me right,” she said. “I might have known what to expect if I came here.”
CHAPTER XVIII.—THE WAY OF ALL FLESH.
Ay, it's been a bad job,” said David. “But it's over and done with now—that's one thing.”
He meant the whole matter, from Mr. Oliver's letter about Miriam to this young lady's ultimate depressing visit; but in his heart he was thinking more of things and a person that came in between; and he glanced in wonder at his wife, who for once had missed an opening to loosen her lips and rail at that person and those things.
They were driving into Melbourne, the old couple together, and such a thing was rare. Moreover, the proposal had been Mrs. Teesdale's, which was rarer still. But rarest of all was her reason, namely, that there were several little odds and ends which she wanted to buy for herself. They had been married thirty-five years, but she had never been known deliberately to buy herself any odds or ends before.
“Fallals?” said David chuckling.
“No such thing; you know nothing about it, David.”
“Ribbons?”