Mrs. Smiley was a firm set, healthy-looking woman of—about forty. She had large, dark, glassy eyes, which were bright without sparkling. Her cheeks were very red, having a fixed settled colour that never altered with circumstances. Her black wiry hair was ended in short crisp curls, which sat close to her head. It almost collected like a wig, but the hair was in truth her own. Her mouth was small, and her lips thin, and they gave to her face a look of sharpness that was not quite agreeable. Nevertheless she was not a bad-looking woman, and with such advantages as two hundred a year and the wardrobe which Mrs. Moulder had described, was no doubt entitled to look for a second husband.
“Well, Mr. Kenneby, and how do you find yourself this cold weather? Dear, how he do snore; don’t he?”
“Yes,” said Kenneby, very thoughtfully, “he does rather.” He was thinking of Miriam Usbech as she was twenty years ago, and of Mrs. Smiley as she appeared at present. Not that he felt inclined to grumble at the lot prepared for him, but that he would like to take a few more years to think about it.
And then they sat down to tea. The lovely chops which Moulder had despised, and the ham in beautiful cut which had failed to tempt him, now met with due appreciation. Mrs. Smiley, though she had never been known to take a drop too much, did like to have things comfortable; and on this occasion she made an excellent meal, with a large pocket-handkerchief of Moulder’s—brought in for the occasion—stretched across the broad expanse of the Irish tabinet. “We shan’t wake him, shall we?” said she, as she took her last bit of muffin.
“Not till he wakes natural, of hisself,” said Mrs. Moulder. “When he’s worked it off, he’ll rouse himself, and I shall have to get him to bed.”
“He’ll be a bit patchy then, won’t he?”
“Well, just for a while of course he will,” said Mrs. Moulder. “But there’s worse than him. Tomorrow morning, maybe, he’ll be just as sweet as sweet. It don’t hang about him, sullen like. That’s what I hate, when it hangs about ’em.” Then the tea-things were taken away, Mrs. Smiley in her familiarity assisting in the removal, and—in spite of the example now before them—some more sugar and some more spirits, and some more hot water were put upon the table. “Well, I don’t mind just the least taste in life, Mrs. Moulder, as we’re quite between friends; and I’m sure you’ll want it tonight to keep yourself up.” Mrs. Moulder would have answered these last words with some severity had she not felt that good humour now might be of great value to her brother.
“Well, John, and what is it you’ve got to say to her?” said Mrs. Moulder, as she put down her empty glass. Between friends who understood each other so well, and at their time of life, what was the use of ceremony?
“La, Mrs. Moulder, what should he have got to say? Nothing I’m sure as I’d think of listening to.”
“You try her, John.”
“Not but what I’ve the greatest respect in life for Mr. Kenneby, and always did have. If you must have anything to do with men, I’ve always said, recommend me to them as is quiet and steady, and hasn’t got too much of the gab;—a quiet man is the man for me any day.”
“Well, John?” said Mrs. Moulder.
“Now, Mrs. Moulder, can’t you keep yourself to yourself, and we shall do very well. Laws, how he do snore! When his head goes bobbing that way I do so fear he’ll have a fit.”
“No he won’t; he’s coming to, all right. Well, John?”
“I’m sure I shall be very happy,” said John, “if she likes it. She says that she respects me, and I’m sure I’ve a great respect for her. I always had—even when Mr. Smiley was alive.”
“It’s very good of you to say so,” said she; not speaking however as though she were quite satisfied. What was the use of his remembering Smiley just at present?
“Enough’s enough between friends any day,” said Mrs. Moulder. “So give her your hand, John.”
“I think it’ll be right to say one thing first,” said Kenneby, with a solemn and deliberate tone.
“And what’s that?” said Mrs. Smiley, eagerly.
“In such a matter as this,” continued Kenneby, “where the hearts are concerned—”
“You didn’t say anything about hearts yet,” said Mrs. Smiley, with some measure of approbation in her voice.
“Didn’t I?” said Kenneby. “Then it was an omission on my part, and I beg leave to apologise. But what I was going to say is this: when the hearts are concerned, everything should be honest and aboveboard.”
“Oh of course,” said Mrs. Moulder; “and I’m sure she don’t suspect nothing else.”
“You’d better let him go on,” said Mrs. Smiley.
“My heart has not been free from woman’s lovely image.”
“And isn’t free now, is it, John?” said Mrs. Moulder.
“I’ve had my object, and though she’s been another’s, still I’ve kept her image on my heart.”
“But it ain’t there any longer, John? He’s speaking of twenty years ago, Mrs. Smiley.”
“It’s quite beautiful to hear him,” said Mrs. Smiley. “Go on, Mr. Kenneby.”
“The years are gone by as though they was nothing, and still I’ve had her image on my heart. I’ve seen her today.”
“Her gentleman’s still alive, ain’t he?” asked Mrs. Smiley.
“And likely to live,” said Mrs. Moulder.
“I’ve seen her today,” Kenneby continued; “and now the Adriatic’s free to wed another.”
Neither of the ladies present exactly understood the force of the quotation; but as it contained an appropriate reference to marriage, and apparently to a second marriage, it was taken by both of them in good part. He was considered to have made his offer, and Mrs. Smiley thereupon formally accepted him. “He’s spoke quite handsome, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Smiley to his sister; “and I don’t know that any woman has a right to expect
