Then, if not a lady, what was she?  Mrs. Berry desired to know:  “She’s imitation lady, I’m sure she is!” Berry vowed.  “I say she don’t look proper.”

Establishing the lady to be a spurious article, however, what was one to think of a married man in company with such?  “Oh no! it ain’t that!” Mrs. Berry returned immediately on the charitable tack.  “Belike it’s some one of his acquaintance ’ve married her for her looks, and he’ve just met her....  Why it’d be as bad as my Berry!” the relinquished spouse of Berry ejaculated, in horror at the idea of a second man being so monstrous in wickedness.  “Just coupled, too!” Mrs. Berry groaned on the suspicious side of the debate.  “And such a sweet young thing for his wife!  But no, I’ll never believe it.  Not if he tell me so himself!  And men don’t do that,” she whimpered.

Women are swift at coming to conclusions in these matters; soft women exceedingly swift:  and soft women who have been betrayed are rapid beyond measure.  Mrs. Berry had not cogitated long ere she pronounced distinctly and without a shadow of dubiosity:  “My opinion is—­married or not married, and wheresomever he pick her up—­she’s nothin’ more nor less than a Bella Donna!” as which poisonous plant she forthwith registered the lady in the botanical note-book of her brain.  It would have astonished Mrs. Mount to have heard her person so accurately hit off at a glance.

In the evening Richard made good his promise, accompanied by Ripton.  Mrs. Berry opened the door to them.  She could not wait to get him into the parlour.  “You’re my own blessed babe; and I’m as good as your mother, though I didn’t suck ye, bein’ a maid!” she cried, falling into his arms, while Richard did his best to support the unexpected burden.  Then reproaching him tenderly for his guile—­at mention of which Ripton chuckled, deeming it his own most honourable portion of the plot—­Mrs. Berry led them into the parlour, and revealed to Richard who she was, and how she had tossed him, and hugged him, and kissed him all over, when he was only that big—­showing him her stumpy fat arm.  “I kissed ye from head to tail, I did,” said Mrs. Berry, “and you needn’t be ashamed of it.  It’s be hoped you’ll never have nothin’ worse come t’ye, my dear!”

Richard assured her he was not a bit ashamed, but warned her that she must not do it now, Mrs. Berry admitting it was out of the question now, and now that he had a wife, moreover.  The young men laughed, and Ripton laughing over-loudly drew on himself Mrs. Berry’s attention:  “But that Mr. Thompson there—­however he can look me in the face after his inn’cence! helping blindfold an old woman! though I ain’t sorry for what I did—­that I’m free for to say, and its’ over, and blessed be all!  Amen!  So now where is she and how is she, Mr. Richard, my dear—­it’s only cuttin’ off the ‘s’ and you are as you was.—­Why didn’t ye bring her with ye to see her old Berry?”

Richard hurriedly explained that Lucy was still in the Isle of Wight.