Another thing: I have always understood that women
admire the qualities they don't possess themselves--strength, for
instance. Now this parson is a Hercules. He took Sir Charles up like a
boy and carried him in his arms all the way from where he had the fit.
Lady Bassett walked beside them. Rely on it, a woman does not see one
man carry another so without making a comparison in favor of the
strong, and against the weak. But what am I talking about? They walk
like lovers, those two."
"What, hand in hand? he! he!"
"No, side by side; but yet like lovers for all that."
"You must have a good eye."
"I have a good opera-glass."
Mr. Wheeler smoked in silence.
"Well, but," said he, after a pause, "if this is so, all the better for
you. Don't you see that the lover will never really help her to get the
husband out of confinement? It is not in the nature of things. He may
struggle with his own conscience a bit, being a clergyman, but he won't
go too far; he won't break the law to get Sir Charles home, and so end
these charming duets with his lady-love."
"By Jove, you are right!" cried Bassett, convinced in his turn. "I say,
old fellow, two heads are better than one. I think we have got the
clew, between us. Yes, by Heaven! it is so; for the carriage used to be
out twice a week, but now she only goes about once in ten days.
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