"My own duck of a wife, there's no one like her."
Esther blushed and laughed with pleasure, and every trace of the resentment for the suffering he had occasioned her dropped out of her heart. For the first time he was really her husband; for the first time she felt that sense of unity in life which is marriage, and knew henceforth he was the one thing that she had to live for.
After luncheon Journeyman, who was making no way with Sarah, took his leave, pleading that he had some friends to meet in Barnard's Ring. They were glad to be rid of him. Sarah had many a tale to tell; and while listening to the matrimonial engagements that had been broken off, Esther shifted her parasol from time to time to watch her tall, gaunt husband. He shouted the odds, willing to bet against every horse, distributed tickets to the various folk that crowded round him, each with his preference, his prejudice, his belief in omens, in tips, or in the talent and luck of a favourite jockey. Sarah continued her cursive chatter regarding the places she had served in. She felt inclined for a snooze, but was afraid it would not look well. While hesitating she ceased speaking, and both women fell asleep under the shade of their parasols. It was the shallow, glassy sleep of the open air, through which they divined easily the great blur that was the race-course.
They could hear William's voice, and they heard a bell ring and shouts of "Here they come!" Then a lull came, and their perceptions grew a little denser, and when they awoke the sky was the same burning blue, and the multitude moved to and fro like puppets.
Sarah was in no better temper after than before her sleep. "It's all very well for you," she said. "You have your husband to look after…. I'll never come to the Derby again without a young man… I'm tired of sitting here, the grass is roasting. Come for a walk."
They were two nice-looking English women of the lower classes, prettily dressed in light gowns with cheap sunshades in their cotton-gloved hands. Sarah looked at every young man with regretful eyes. In such moods acquaintanceships are made; and she did not allow Esther to shake off Bill Evans, who, just as if he had never been turned out of the bar of the "King's Head," came up with his familiar, "Good morning, ma'am—lovely weather for the races." Sarah's sidelong glances at the blue Melton jacket and the billycock hat defined her feelings with sufficient explicitness, and it was not probable that any warning would have been heeded. Soon they were engaged in animated conversation, and Esther was left to follow them if she liked.
She walked by Sarah's side, quite ignored, until she was accosted by Fred Parsons. They were passing by the mission tent, and Fred was calling upon the folk to leave the ways of Satan for those of Christ. Bill Evans was about to answer some brutal insult; but seeing that "the Christian" knew Esther he checked himself in time. Esther stopped to speak to Fred, and Bill seized the opportunity to slip away with Sarah.
"I didn't expect to meet you here, Esther."
"I'm here with my husband. He said a little pleasure——"
"This is not innocent pleasure, Esther; this is drunkenness and debauchery. I hope you'll never come again, unless you come with us," he said, pointing to some girls dressed as bookmakers, with Salvation and Perdition written on the satchels hung round their shoulders. They sought to persuade the passers-by to come into the tent. "We shall be very glad to see you," they said, and they distributed mock racing cards on which was inscribed news regarding certain imaginary racing. "The Paradise Plate, for all comers," "The Salvation Stakes, an Eternity of Happiness added."