She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. “Dear John,” she whispered. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Well, while we were smoking our pipes, and quaffing our punch, Alsatia turns to me and says, 'Mint,' says he, 'you're well off here. You will be wearing your travelling dress, and no doubt you would prefer it. ” She saw him flinch, but he gave no sign of it in his tone. Then there was also the horse.
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