“Pity they don’t,” said Jenny, “for all the use they make of them.”
Amid such bouts of thrust and counter-thrust, the affair of Capt’n Davy and Mrs. Quiggin nevertheless made due progress.
“She’s half in love with my Manx sailor on the Head,” said Jenny.
“And he’s more than half in love with my lady in the church,” said Lovibond.
“And now that we’ve made each of them fond of each other in disguise, we have just to make both of them ashamed of themselves in reality,” said Jenny.
“Just that,” said Lovibond.
“Ah me,” said Jenny. “It isn’t every pair of geese that have friends like us to prevent them from going astray.”
“It isn’t,” said Lovibond. “We’re the good old ganders that keep the geese together.”
“Speak for yourself, sir,” said Jenny.
Then came Jenny’s opportunity. She had been out on one of her jaunts with Lovibond, leaving Mrs. Quiggin alone in her room at Castle Mona. Mrs. Quiggin was still in her room, and still alone. Since the separation a fortnight before that had been the constant condition of her existence. Never going out, never even going down for her meals, rarely speaking of her husband, always thinking of him, and eating out her heart with pride and vexation, and anger and self-reproach.