assumption of unconsciousness; but it is doubtful whether the
matrimonial disputants were sufficiently appreciative of this good
breeding. They would have liked to have had Mr. Sheldon for a court of
appeal; and a little interference from him would have given zest to
their quarrels. Meanwhile Philip watched them slyly from the covert of
his newspaper, and formed his own conclusions about them. If he was
pleased to see that his false love's path was not entirely rose-bestrewn,
or if he rejoiced at beholding the occasional annoyance of his rival, he
allowed no evidence of his pleasure to appear in his face or manner.

Georgina Cradock's rather insipid prettiness had developed into
matronly comeliness. Her fair complexion and pink cheeks had lost none
of their freshness. Her smooth auburn hair was as soft and bright as it
had been when she had braided it preparatory to a Barlingford tea-party
in the days of her spinsterhood. She was a pretty, weak little woman,
whose education had never gone beyond the routine of a provincial
boarding-school, and who believed that she had attained all necessary
wisdom in having mastered Pinnock's abridgments of Goldsmith's
histories and the rudiments of the French language. She was a woman who
thought that the perfection of feminine costume was a moire-antique
dress and a conspicuous gold chain. She was a woman who considered a
well-furnished house and a horse and gig the highest form of earthly
splendour or prosperity.

This was the shallow commonplace creature whom Philip Sheldon had once
admired and wooed. He looked at her now, and wondered how he could ever
have felt even as much as he had felt on her account. But he had little
leisure to devote to any such abstract and useless consideration. He
had his own affairs to think about, and they were very desperate.