"Clever is scarcely the word." "No, wise--wise is the word," says Mrs.Bethune.
Her eyes are still downcast.

It seems to Margaret that she is inwardly convulsed with laughter.
"Well, wise or not, we lived in harmony," says Lady Rylton with a sigh and a prolonged sniff at her scent-bottle.

"With us it was peace to the end." "Certainly; it was peace _at_ the end," says Mrs.Bethune solemnly.
It was, indeed, a notorious thing that the late Sir Maurice had lived in hourly fear of his wife, and had never dared to contradict her on any subject, though he was a man of many inches, and she one of the smallest creatures on record.
"True! true! _You_ knew him so well!" says Lady Rylton, hiding her eyes behind the web of a handkerchief she is holding.

One tear would have reduced it to pulp.

"And when he was----" She pauses.
"Was dead ?" says Margaret kindly, softly.
"Oh, _don't,_ dear Margaret, _don't!"_ says Lady Rylton, with a tragical start.