"Only Jack's two wives—Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot," replied Austin, laughing. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. A world of haystacks, bean-stacks, and strawricks flanked the granges adjoining his habitation; the yard was crowded with poultry, pigeons were feeding at his feet, cattle were being driven towards the stall, horses led to the stable, a large mastiff was rattling his chain, and stalking majestically in front of his kennel, while a number of farming-men were passing and repassing about their various occupations. "I am happy—quite happy now.
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