“Maybe she thinks he wur a-courting me,” snapped Ivy, “but he dud naun of the like. He toald me he was married the fust day I set eyes on un.”
“Weel, that was on’y reet. So many of those marrit sojer chaps go and deceive puir lasses. A hear there’s been a mort of trouble and wickedness done that way.”
“Maybe,” said Ivy—“women are gurt owls, most of them.”
“And,” continued Mrs. Seagrim, “it’s only reet and kind of the wives of such men to go and tell any poor body as is like to be deceived by them.”
“That’s true enough. But your trouble’s thrown away on me. I knew all about un from the fust.”
“Weel, A’ve done ma duty ony way,” and Mrs. Seagrim rose, extending a gloved hand, “and A’m reet glad as Seagrim was straight with yo’, when he seems to have passed as single with everyone else.”
“It must be a tar’ble trial to have a man lik that,” said Ivy. “He’ll cost you a dunnamany shilluns and pounds if you’ve got to go trapesing after him everywheres, to tell folk he’s wed.”
Mrs. Seagrim smiled.
When Ivy had shown her out of the front-door, she would have liked to escape to her bedroom, but Mrs. Beatup filled the passage.
“Ivy—you might have toald me. I maade sure as he’d deceived you.”