"Not at all. Marriage changes a woman into something entirely different. Constance was a charming girl; Mrs. Rover is a flirting, fast-living, heartless, spendthrift, Society doll."
"Society Doll—y Rover," murmured Prelice, noting his aunt's usual waste of adjectives. "Will you come to this ball?"
"What!" Lady Sophia almost screamed, "a masked ball, and at my age? Oh, how can you be so ridiculous, Prelice? And at Mrs. Rover's too; a woman who neglects her husband, and squanders his money, and whips him like a poodle, I believe."
"He is something of a poodle, isn't he?"
"That is no reason why he should be whipped," she snapped heatedly; "and if you knew how she had treated your friend Mr. Shepworth, you would not go near her disreputable ball."
Prelice pricked up his ears, remembering the unnecessary blush of the barrister at midday. "How did she treat Shepworth?" he asked.
"How? Can you ask?"
"Of course, seeing that, as a newly returned traveller, I know nothing."
"Well then, she was almost engaged to him, and he was very much in love with her. She threw him over in a cold-blooded way, because Dolly Rover came along with a better-filled purse. He's a horrid little cad," added Lady Sophia candidly, "and his father was a chemist, or a draper—I forget which. All the same, he is too good for a jilt, who played blind hooky—don't raise your eyebrows, Prelice; it's vulgar, but expressive, and I shall use it—who played blind hooky with poor Mr. Shepworth."
"But are you sure, aunt? Ned is engaged to Miss Chent."