Of all women, Jacob honoured her most.

But to sit at a table with bread and butter, with dowagers in velvet, and never say more to Clara Durrant than Benson said to the parrot when old Miss Perry poured out tea, was an insufferable outrage upon the liberties and decencies of human nature--or words to that effect.

For Jacob said nothing.

Only he glared at the fire.

Fanny laid down Tom Jones.
She stitched or knitted.
"What's that ?" asked Jacob.
"For the dance at the Slade." And she fetched her head-dress; her trousers; her shoes with red tassels.