He distinctly heard his wife say things to Mrs.
Rodney that she had solemnly avowed she would not say,--things about the Medcroft baby.
It goes without saying that Mrs.Odell-Carney refused to be surprised by the disclosures.

She calmly admitted that she had suspected Medcroft of being too fond of his sister-in-law, but, she went on cheerfully, why not?
His wife didn't care a rap for him--she _said_ rap and nothing else; Mrs.Medcroft had an affair of her own, dear child; she was not so slow as Mrs.Rodney thought, oh, no.

Mrs.Odell-Carney warmed up considerably in defending the not-to-be-pitied Edith.

She said she had liked her from the beginning, and more than ever, now that she had really come to the conclusion that her husband was the kind who sets his wife an example by being a bit divaricating himself.
Mrs.Rodney fairly screeched with horror when she heard that Tootles was "a poor little beggar," and "all that sort of thing, you know." "My dear," said Mrs.Odell-Carney, hating herself all the time for engaging in the spread of gossip, but femininely unable to withstand the test, "your excellent cousin, Mrs.Medcroft, receives two letters a day from London,--great, fat letters which take fifteen minutes to read in spite of the fact that they are written in a perfectly huge hand by a man--a man, d'ye hear?
They're not from her husband.

He's here.