Together they crept through the erstwhile drawing room and entered the massive flagged hall. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. ‘Ah, non,’ exclaimed the husband. They did not want her. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. Moreover, atrociously and inexorably, he allowed it to appear ever and again in horrible gleams that he suspected there was some man in the case.
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