"What if it's a case of sour grapes, love? Since the prettiest woman on
Ballarat is no longer free. . . ."
"Oh, Richard, hush! Such foolish talk!"
"But is it? . . . let me look at her. Well, if not the prettiest, at
least a very pretty person indeed. It certainly becomes you to be
stouter, wife."
But Mary had not an atom of vanity in her. "Speaking of prettiness
reminds me of something that happened at the Races last week--I forgot
to tell you, at the time. There were two gentlemen there from Melbourne;
and as Agnes Ocock went past, one of them said out loud: 'Gad! That's a
lovely woman.' Agnes heard it herself, and was most distressed. And the
whole day, wherever she went, they kept their field-glasses on her. Mr.
Henry was furious."
"If you'll allow me to say so, my dear, Mrs. Henry cannot hold a candle
to some one I know--to my mind, at least."
"If I suit you, Richard, that's all I care about."
"Well, to come back to what we were saying. My advice is, give Master
Purdy a taste of the cold shoulder the next time he comes hanging about
the house. Let him see his ill-temper didn't pass unnoticed. There's no
excuse for it. God bless me! doesn't he sleep the whole night through in
his bed?"--and Mahony's tone took on an edge. The broken nights that
were nowadays the rule with himself were the main drawbacks to his
prosperity. He had never been a really good sleeper; and, in
consequence, was one of those people who feel an intense need for sleep,
and suffer under its curtailment.
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