I don't think you've had very much chance of making my money spin, eh, Mrs.Tadman ?" The widow cast up her hands and eyes towards the ceiling of the parlour where they were sitting.
"Goodness knows I've had precious little chance of doing that, Stephen Whitelaw," she replied.
"I should reckon not; and my wife will have about as much." There was some cold comfort in this.

Mrs.Tadman had once hoped that if her cousin ever exalted any woman to the proud position of mistress of Wyncomb, she herself would be that favoured individual; and it was a hard thing to see a young person, who had nothing but a certain amount of good looks to recommend her, raised to that post of honour in her stead.

It was some consolation, therefore, to discover that the interloper was to reign with very limited powers, and that none of the privileges or indulgences usually granted to youthful brides by elderly bridegrooms were to be hers.

It was something, too, for Mrs.Tadman to be allowed to remain beneath the familiar shelter of that gloomy old house, and this boon had been granted to her at Ellen's express request.
"I suppose she's going to turn lazy as soon as she's married, or she wouldn't have wanted to keep you," the farmer said in rather a sulky manner, after he had given Mrs.Tadman his gracious permission to remain in his service.

"But if she is, we must find some way of curing her of that.