Joey was only nineteen at the time, and was what the Americans, with delicate euphemism, call homely. She had projecting teeth, a freckled skin, little twinkling eyes, and a loud voice. In person she was large and ungainly; but she had her points. A bouncing good humour, a fine seat on horseback, and a real love of children and animals made her more or less popular in the district. Ferris was not a good husband, but he was not actively unkind to her, though he spared no chance of letting her know that, but for her money, he would never have looked her way. As he entered his home, and passed through the untidy hall, littered with whips, sticks, children's toys, golf clubs and tennis bats, mingled in wild disorder with coats, jerseys, old hats, gardening gloves and aprons, a loud roaring could be heard, and Joey presently came downstairs, her firstborn son, an ugly fat child of about five, tucked under her arm, kicking, fighting, and bellowing. "Hallo!" said she, perceiving her husband. "I've been giving Tom a good spanking to teach him not to torture things. I can't think what makes 'em such little demons of cruelty. Bill's just as bad. I won't have it, that's flat. You hear, Tom? If ever you hurt anything you're going to get hurt yourself. Comprenny, my son?" She set Tom on his feet, dusted him down, pushed her untidy hair out of her eyes with one hand, and patted the boy with the other. "Kiss and make friends," said she. "Here's daddy, and we're going to have dinner." Tom bore no malice. He gave and received the kiss of amity, and they went into the dining-room, where a huge dish of boiled beef, flanked with carrots, turnips, and suet dumplings steamed upon the board. A nurse brought down Bill, and seated him on his high chair. Then Ferris, having begun to carve with celerity, could keep his news no longer to himself. "Jo," he said, "it's true--true, after all." "Eh, what?" said Joey, busy preparing Bill's dinner in a plate with a special high edge. "I wouldn't believe it--actually betted against it," continued her husband, chuckling, "but it's gospel truth. Old Gaunt's gone and got married." "Go on! Pulling my leg!" observed Joey, with equal elegance and good humour. "My girl, I've seen 'em--actually seen 'em together. Came up just as he was at his drive gate--telling Caunter something. She was sitting in the trap beside him, and--Jee-rusalem, she's a peach, if you like!" "Percy, you are the limit. Remember the boys." "Lucky little beggars, they aren't old enough to suffer like their daddy. I tell you I've never seen anything quite like her. She looks as if a breath would blow her away--like what the serials call a vision from another world. And old Gaunt sitting there beside her, looking as if he would like to lay forcible hands on my windpipe. Old Gaunt. Help!" "Well, I never," said Joey, deeply impressed. "It may be a bit of all right for us, if she's a decent sort. Nearest neighbours, aren't we?"