“Nothin’ o’ the kind. There weren’t no soldiers anywheres near us. ’Twas another kind of a man altogether.”
“A-h-h,” groaned Mrs. Cross sympathetically. “And I s’pose he wouldn’t marry her, mum?”
“E-es, he married her, Mrs. Cross,” responded the widow in a tone of dignified surprise. “E-es, he married her. Indeed he did.”
“But there was carryin’s on, I s’pose?” suggested Mrs. Cross respectfully.
Mrs. Chaffey fixed her with a stony stare.
“I’m not one as ’ud allow no carryin’s on,” she returned loftily. “When the man come and axed Jenny—that was her name—I says to her, ‘Not with my consent,’ I says—well, she took and got married wi’out it.”
“Lard ha’ mercy me,” ejaculated the listener, seeing that she was expected to say something, “well, that was——” she hesitated, “I s’pose the man wasn’t one as you’d ha’ picked for her, Mrs. Chaffey? Maybe,” she added darkly, “he wasn’t in work?”
“He was in work,” replied Mrs. Chaffey solemnly, “reg’lar. Oh, e-es, he was in work.”
Mrs. Cross was a good deal mystified, and being too uncertain of her ground to venture on a comment, contented herself with clicking her tongue and turning up her eyes.
“’Tis a queer tale; ’tis indeed,” resumed the widow; “but as I did often say to she arter the job was done: ‘Don’t blame me, Jenny—what you did do, you did do wi’ your eyes open. I’ve a-told you plain,’ I says, ‘I’ve gied ye the best advice. Stay,’ I says, ‘where you’re well off. You’ve a-got a good home,’ I did tell her, ‘and one what is a mother to ye—don’t ye go for to take up with this ’ere stranger.’”