Can he lay his clutch on another’s life, and wring out the tears shed, the stains of the bruises, recollection of the wrongs?

Contemplate the wounded creature as a woman.  Then, what sort of woman is she?  She was once under a fascination—­ludicrously, painfully, intensely like a sort of tipsy poor puss, the trapped hare tossed to her serpent; and thoroughly reassured for a few caresses, quite at home, caged and at home; and all abloom with pretty ways, modest pranks, innocent fondlings.  Gobbled, my dear!

It is the doom of the innocents, a natural fate.  Smother the creature with kindness again, show we are a point in the scale above that old coiler snake—­which broke no bones, bit not so very deep;—­she will be, she ought to be, the woman she was.  That is, if she was then sincere, a dose of kindness should operate happily to restore the honeymoony fancies, hopes, trusts, dreams, all back, as before the honeymoon showed the silver crook and shadowy hag’s back of a decaying crescent.  And true enough, the poor girl’s young crescent of a honeymoon went down sickly-yellow rather early.  It can be renewed.  She really was at that time rather romantic.  She became absurd.  Romance is in her, nevertheless.  She is a woman of mettle:  she is probably expecting to be wooed.  One makes a hash of yesterday’s left dish, but she may know no better.  ’Add a pickle,’ as Chummy Potts used to say.  The dish is rendered savoury by a slight expenditure of attentions, just a dab of intimated soft stuff.

‘Pleasant to see you established here, if you find the place agreeable,’ he said.

She was kissing her hand to her brother, all her eyes for him—­or for the couple; and they were hidden by the park lodge before she replied:  ’It is an admired, beautiful place.’

‘I came,’ said he, ‘to have your assurance that it suits you.’

‘I thank you, my lord.’

‘"My lord” would like a short rest, Carinthia.’

She seemed placidly acquiescing.  ‘You have seen the boy?’

‘Twice to-day.  We were having a conversation just now.’

‘We think him very intelligent.’

‘Lady Arpington tells me you do the honours here excellently.’

‘She is good to me.’

’Praises the mother’s management of the young one.  John Edward:  Edward for call-name.  Madge boasts his power for sleeping.’

‘He gives little trouble.’

’And babes repay us!  We learn from small things.  Out of the mouth of babes wisdom?  Well, their habits show the wisdom of the mother.  A good mother!  There’s no higher title.  A lady of my acquaintance bids fair to win it, they say.’

Carinthia looked in simplicity, saw herself, and said ’If a mother may rear her boy till he must go to school, she is rewarded for all she does.’

‘Ah,’ said he, nodding over her mania of the perpetual suspicion.  ‘Leddings, Queeney, the servants here, run smoothly?’