“But how did he come to accuse you of marrying him for his money? Had you asked him for any?”
“Not I, indeed.”
“Perhaps you hadn’t loved him enough?”
“Not that either—that I know of.”
“Then why did he say it?”
“Just because I wanted him to respect himself, and have some respect for his wife, too, and behave as a gentleman, and not as a raw Manx rabbit from the Calf.”
Jenny gave a look of amused intelligence, and said, “Oh, oh, I see, I see! Well, let me take off my bonnet, at all events.”
While this was being done in the bedroom Nelly, who was furtively wiping her eyes, continued the recital of her wrongs:—
“Would you believe it, Jenny, the first thing he did when we arrived here after the wedding was to shake hands with the hall porter, and the boots who took our luggage, and ask after their sisters and their mothers, and their sweethearts—the man knew them all. And when he heard from his boy, Willie Quarrie, that the cook was a person from Michael, it was as much as I could do to keep him from tearing down to the kitchen to talk about old times.”
“Yes, I see,” said Jenny; “he has made a fortune, but he is just the same simple Manx lad that he was ten years ago.”