Mavis’s behaviour formed the subject of a complaint made by Mrs Devitt when alone with Montague in their bedroom.

“Didn’t you notice the shameless way she behaved?” asked Mrs Devitt.

“Nonsense!” replied her well-pleased lord.

“Everyone noticed it.  She’s rapidly going from bad to worse.”

“Anyway, it’s as good as put five thousand in my pocket, if not more.”

“What do you mean?”

Montague’s explanation modified his wife’s ill opinion of Mavis.  The next morning, when Devitt thanked his daughter-in-law for influencing Sir Frederick in the way she had done, Mavis said: 

“I want something in return.”

“Some shares for yourself?”

“A rise of a pound a week for Miss Toombs.”

“That plain, unhealthy little woman at the boot factory!”

“She’s a heart of gold.  I know you’ll do it for me,” said Mavis, who was now conscious of her power over Devitt.

Having won her way, Mavis set out to intercept Miss Toombs, who about this time would be on her way to business.  They had not met since Mavis’s marriage to Harold, Miss Toombs refusing to answer Mavis’s many letters and always being out when her old friend called.

Mavis ran against Miss Toombs by the market-place; her friend looked in worse health than when she had last seen her.

“Good morning,” said Mavis.

“Don’t talk to me,” cried Miss Toombs.  “I hate the sight of you.”

“No, you don’t.  And I’ve done you a good turn.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.  I wish you good morning.”

“What have I done to upset you?” asked Mavis.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“But I don’t.”

“What!  Then I’ll tell you.  You’ve married young Devitt, when there’s a man worth all the women who ever lived eating his heart out for you.”

Mavis stopped, amazed at the other woman’s vehemence.

“A man who you’ve treated like the beast you are,” continued Miss Toombs hotly.  “After all that’s happened, he longed to marry you, and that’s more than most men would have done.”

“You don’t know—­you can’t understand,” faltered Mavis.

“Yes, I do.  You’re not really bad; you’re only a precious big fool and don’t know when you’ve got a good thing.”

“I—­I love my husband.”

“Rot!  You may think you do, but you don’t.  You’re much too hot-blooded to stick that kind of marriage long.  I know I wouldn’t.  And it serves you right if you ever make a mess of it.”

“I thought Sir Archibald only pitied me,” said Mavis, in extenuation of her marriage.

“Pity! pity!  He’s a man, not a bloodless nincompoop,” said Miss Toombs.  “And it’s you I have to thank for seeing him so often,” she added, as her anger again flamed up.

“Sir Archibald?” asked Mavis.

“He sees me to talk about you,” said Miss Toombs sorrowfully.  “And he never looks twice at me.  He doesn’t even like me enough to ask me to go away for a week-end with him.  I’m simply nothing to him, and that’s the truth.”