"That isn't much better. Everybody knows that Mark Nelson has all that he can do to get along. His wife hasn't had a new dress for years."
The squire's face grew hard and stern. He had never loved his wife, and never forgiven Mrs. Nelson, whom he had loved as much as he was capable of doing, for refusing his hand.
"She has made her bed and she must lie upon it," he said curtly. "She might have known that Mark Nelson would never be able to provide for her."
"Perhaps she never had any other offer," said Mrs. Hudson, who was ignorant of a certain passage of her husband's life.
"Probably she did, for she was a very pretty girl."
"Then she's faded," said Mrs. Hudson, tossing her head.
Squire Hudson did not reply; but as his eyes rested on the sharp, querulous face of his helpmate, and he compared it mentally with the pleasant face of Mrs. Nelson, he said to himself that, faded or not, the latter was still better looking than his wife had been in the days of her youth. Of course it would not do to say so, for Mrs. Hudson was not amiable.
"Mark Nelson has given me security," said the squire, returning to the point under discussion. "I hold a mortgage on his farm for the whole amount he owes me."
"Do you think you shall have to foreclose, father?" asked Sinclair.
"If Tom does not succeed in California, I probably shall," said the squire.