Ocock cried quits by remarking confidentially: "That little lady
o' yours 'as got 'er 'eadpiece screwed on the right way. It beats me,
doc., why you don't take 'er inter the store and learn 'er the bizness.
No offence, I'm sure," he made haste to add, disconcerted by Mahony's
cold stare.
Had anyone at this date tried to tell Polly she lived in a mean, rough
home, he would have had a poor reception. Polly was long since certain
that not a house on the diggings could compare with theirs. This was a
trait Mahony loved in her--her sterling loyalty; a loyalty that
embraced not only her dear ones themselves, but every stick and stone
belonging to them. His discovery of it helped him to understand her
allegiance to her own multicoloured family: in the beginning he had
almost doubted its sincerity. Now, he knew her better. It was just as
though a sixth sense had been implanted in Polly, enabling her to pierce
straight through John's self-sufficiency or Ned's vapourings, to the
real kernel of goodness that no doubt lay hid below. He himself could
not get at it; but then his powers of divination were the exact opposite
of Polly's. He was always struck by the weak or ridiculous side of a
person, and had to dig laboriously down to the virtues. While his young
wife, by a kind of genius, saw the good at a glance--and saw nothing
else. And she did not stint with her gift, or hoard it up solely for use
on her own kith and kin. Her splendid sympathy was the reverse of
clannish; it was applied to every mortal who crossed her path.
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