'Well, I don't believe as he knows much about her goins-on--not all,
leastways. I've seen her wait till he was at his work or gone to the
club, and then run down the hill--tearin--with her hair flyin--you'd
think she'd gone silly. Oh, it's a bad business,' said Watson, strongly,
'an uncommon bad business--all them young children too.'

'I never saw her drunk, Watson.'

'No--yer wouldn't. Nor I neither. But she'll treat half the parish if
she gets the chance. I know many fellers as go to the "Spotted Deer"
just because they know she'll treat 'em. She's a-doin of it now--there's
lots of 'em. And allus changin such a queer lot of money too--
old half-crowns--years and years old--King George the Third, sir. No--
it's strange--very strange.'

The two walked on into the darkness, still talking.

Meanwhile, inside the 'Spotted Deer' Bessie Costrell was treating her
hangers-on. She had drunk one glass of gin-and-water--it had made a
beauty of her in the judgement of the tap-room, such a kindling had it
given to her brown eyes and such a redness to her cheek. Bessie, in
truth, had reached her moment of physical prime. The marvel was that
there were no lovers in addition to the drinking and the extravagance.
But the worst of the village scandalmongers knew of none. Since this new
phase of character in her had developed, she would drink and make merry
with any young fellow in the place, but it went no further. She was
_bonne camarade_ with all the world--no more. Perhaps at bottom some
coolness of temperament protected her; nobody, at any rate, suspected
that it had anything to do with Isaac, or that she cared a ha'p'orth for