For this unwieldy jester, with the jolly red face and rough tongue, could touch the heart with a word, when she was in the humour.

Then she spoke so wisely and kindly that the tears gathered in stubborn eyes, and the poor fools went home comforted.
Ever since her daughter was a child she had speculated on her marriage.
There was to be no nonsense about love.

That was all very well in novelettes, but in Cardigan Street love-matches were a failure.
Generally the first few months saw the divine spark drowned in beer.
She would pick a steady man with his two pounds a week; he would jump at the chance, and the whole street would turn out to the wedding.
But, as is common, her far-seeing eyes had neglected the things that lay under her nose.

Ada, in open revolt, had chosen Jonah the larrikin, a hunchback, crafty as the devil and monstrous to the sight.

In six months the inevitable had happened.
She was dismayed, but unshaken, and set to work to repair the damage with the craft and strategy of an old general.