Bewildered and abashed, Mrs. Mumpson rocked nervously. "I had looked for
relentings this evening, a general softening," she murmured, "and I don't
understand his bearing toward me." Then a happy thought struck her. "I see, I
see," she cried softly and ecstatically: "He is struggling with himself; he
finds that he must either deny himself my society or yield at once. The end
is near."

A little later she, too, appeared at the kitchen door and said, with serious
sweetness, "Jane, you can also bring me MY supper to the parlor."

Mrs. Wiggins shook with mirth in all her vast proportions as she remarked,
"Jane, ye can bring me MY supper from the stove to the table 'ere, and then
vait hon yeself."


Chapter XIII. Not Wife, But Waif

Tom Watterly's horse was the pride of his heart. It was a bobtailed, rawboned
animal, but, as Tom complacently remarked to Alida, "He can pass about
anything on the road"--a boast that he let no chance escape of verifying. It
was a terrible ordeal to the poor woman to go dashing through the streets in
an open wagon, feeling that every eye was upon her. With head bowed down, she
employed her failing strength in holding herself from falling out, yet almost
wishing that she might be dashed against some object that would end her
wretched life. It finally occurred to Tom that the woman at his side might
not, after her recent experience, share in his enthusiasm, and he pulled up
remarking, with a rough effort at sympathy, "It's a cussed shame you've been
treated so, and as soon as you're ready, I'll help you get even with the
scamp."