‘We will write.  And you will have your husband then.’

’When I had finished my letter to Ned, I dropped my head on it and behaved like a fool for several minutes.  I can’t bear the thought of losing you!’

‘But you don’t lose me,’ said Nesta; ’there is no ground for your supposing that you will.  And your wish not to lose me, binds me to you more closely.’

‘If you knew!’ Mrs. Marsett caught at her slippery tongue, and she carolled:  ’If we all knew everything, we should be wiser, and what a naked lot of people we should be!’

They were crossing the passage of a cavalcade of gentlemen, at the end of the East Cliff.  One among them, large and dominant, with a playful voice of brass, cried out: 

‘And how do you do, Mrs. Judith Marsett—­ha?  Beautiful morning?’

Mrs. Marsett’s figure tightened; she rode stonily erect, looked level ahead.  Her woman’s red mouth was shut fast on a fighting underlip.

‘He did not salute you,’ Nesta remarked, to justify her for not having responded.

The lady breathed a low thunder:  ‘Coward!’

‘He cannot have intended to insult you,’ said Nesta.

’That man knows I will not notice him.  He is a beast.  He will learn that I carry a horsewhip.’

‘Are you not taking a little incident too much to heart?’

The sigh of the heavily laden came from Mrs. Marsett.

’Am I pale?  I dare say.  I shall go on my knees tonight hating myself that I was born “one of the frail sex.”  We are, or we should ride at the coward and strike him to the ground.  Pray, pray do not look distressed!  Now you know my Christian name.  That dog of a man barks it out on the roads.  It doesn’t matter.’

‘He has offended you before?’

’You are near me.  They can’t hurt me, can’t touch me, when I think that I ’m talking with you.  How I envy those who call you by your Christian name!’

‘Nesta,’ said smiling Nesta.  The smile was forced, that she might show kindness, for the lady was jarring on her.

Mrs. Marsett opened her lips:  ’Oh, my God, I shall be crying!—­let’s gallop.  No, wait, I’ll tell you.  I wish I could!  I will tell you of that man.  That man is Major Worrell.  One of the majors who manage to get to their grade.  A retired warrior.  He married a handsome woman, above him in rank, with money; a good woman.  She was a good woman, or she would have had her vengeance, and there was never a word against her.  She must have loved that—­Ned calls him, full-blooded ox.  He spent her money and he deceived her.—­You innocent!  Oh, you dear!  I’d give the world to have your eyes.  I’ve heard tell of “crystal clear,” but eyes like yours have to tell me how deep and clear.  Such a world for them to be in!  I did pray, and used your name last night on my knees, that you—­I said Nesta—­might never have to go through other women’s miseries.  Ah me!  I have to tell you he deceived her.  You don’t quite understand.’