"A puir feckless thing, tottering along like-not half the makings of a man.

A stout lass like she could a'most blow him away wi' a puff of her mouth." That was the verdict which an old farmer's wife passed upon him, and that verdict was made good by the general opinion of the parish.
But though the lord might be only half a man, Julia Brabazon walked out from the church every inch a countess.

Whatever price she might have paid, she had at any rate got the thing which she had intended to buy.
And as she stepped into the chariot which carried her away to the railway station on her way to Dover, she told herself that she had done right.

She had chosen her profession, as Harry Clavering had chosen his; and having so far succeeded, she would do her best to make her success perfect.

Mercenary! Of course she had been mercenary.