“‘I never said nothin’, ma’am,’ says she. “Such a story. It do stand to reason as if she must ha’ gone abusin’ o’ I.” “Maybe he thought of hissel’ you was a bit hard on her,” said Mrs. Cross, struck by a brilliant idea. The inspiration, however, was not a happy one apparently. Mrs. Chaffey took great umbrage, and it was, indeed, some time before her neighbour could pacify her sufficiently to induce her to continue her tale. “I did talk to her kind, an’ I did talk to her sharp,” she resumed, in an aggrieved tone. “But no; she wouldn’t hear reason, an’ at last I did fair lose patience. “‘Well, then,’ says I, ‘I be done wi’ ’ee; I’ll ha’ no more to say to ’ee from this out. If you do leave yer good home,’ I says, ‘an’ desert one what’s the same as yer mother, I be done wi’ ’ee. Mark my words,’ I did tell her, ‘this ’ere marriage’ll turn out unlucky. You’ll repent it all the days of your life.’” “Ah!” said Mrs. Cross, sucking in her breath with gruesome relish. “An’ she did, Mrs. Chaffey, I should think. She _did_.” “She did ought to,” returned Mrs. Chaffey, impressively, and paused. “I d’ ’low she hasn’t done so very well for herself?” insinuated the other. “She hasn’t a-got such a very good home.” Mrs. Chaffey rubbed her nose and coughed, but apparently did not feel called upon to enter into particulars as to the recreant Jenny’s domicile. “Her man be out o’ work pretty often, I dare say?” hinted Mrs. Cross. “Not as I’ve heerd on, so far,” returned her neighbour, in a tone which implied that Mr. Connor would probably find himself thrown upon the world in a very short time. “Any family, my dear?” “Two,” replied the widow. “Two childern, Mrs. Cross--a boy an’ a girl.” “You haven’t ever seen them, of course?” “E-es, my dear,” responded Mrs. Chaffey, with a superior air. “I do see ’em two or three times a year. I bain’t one for to bear malice. When her ’usband do drive her over on a Bank Holiday I could never have the ’eart for to shut my door i’ their faces.” “Drive over!” exclaimed Mrs. Cross. “They must be free wi’ their dibs to go throwin’ ’em about on car-hire.” “It don’t cost them nothin’,” said Mrs. Chaffey hastily. “’Tis their own trap.” Mrs. Cross gasped. “They keeps a trap! They must be pretty well off.” Seeing that this remark was evidently unpleasing to her new friend, she obsequiously hastened to allude to what she felt sure must be a genuine grievance. “An’ not a bit grateful, as you was a-sayin’ jist now! She don’t remember, I shouldn’t think, all what you’ve a-done for her. She don’t never make you no return I d’ ’low. She don’t never give ’ee nothin’, do she?” “Nothin’ to speak of,” retorted the other, peevishly, and closed her mouth with a snap. “Such as half a dozen fresh eggs, I suppose?” suggested Mrs. Cross. “She wouldn’t ever give ’ee a fowl now, would she? Would she?” she persisted, as Mrs. Chaffey did not answer. “I shouldn’t think she’d ever give ’ee a fowl. Lard, no, not a fowl--would she?”