Mrs. Pendyce paid it, knowing no better, and gave him sixpence
over, thinking it might benefit the horse; and the cabman, touching his
hat, said:
"Thank you, my lady," for to say "my lady" was his principle when he
received eighteen pence above his fare.
Mrs. Pendyce stood quite a minute on the pavement, stroking the horse's
nose and thinking:
'I must go in; it's silly to come all this way and not go in!'
But her heart beat so that she could hardly swallow.
At last she rang.
Mrs. Bellew was seated on the sofa in her little drawing-room whistling
to a canary in the open window. In the affairs of men there is an
irony constant and deep, mingled with the very springs of life. The
expectations of Mrs. Pendyce, those timid apprehensions of this meeting
which had racked her all the way, were lamentably unfulfilled. She had
rehearsed the scene ever since it came into her head; the reality seemed
unfamiliar. She felt no nervousness and no hostility, only a sort of
painful interest and admiration. And how could this or any other woman
help falling in love with George?
The first uncertain minute over, Mrs. Bellew's eyes were as friendly as
if she had been quite within her rights in all she had done; and Mrs.
Pendyce could not help meeting friendliness halfway.
"Don't be angry with me for coming.
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