It's like losin' the key and not bein' able to get in the door in consequence." "It wa'n't my husband's key," said Fanny, with a glance at her own face, faded as to feature and bloom, but intensified as to love and daily duty, like that of a dog sharpened to one faithfulness of existence.
"Andrew ain't Jim," said Eva, shortly.
"I know he ain't," Fanny assented, with emphasis.
"But I wouldn't swap off my husband for a dozen of yours," said Eva.
"Well, I wouldn't swap off mine for a thousand of yours," returned Fanny, sharply; and there might have been one of the old-time tussles between the sisters had not Eva's violent, half-bitter sense of humor averted it.

She broke into a hard laugh.
"Good Lord," she said, "I dun'no' as I should want a thousand like Jim.

Seems to me it would be considerable care." Fanny began to speak, but checked herself.

She had heard rumors regarding Jim Tenny of late and had flown fiercely with denial at the woman who told her, and had not repeated them to her sister.
She was thinking how she had heard that Jim had been seen driving in Wenham with Aggie Morse several times lately.

Aggie Morse had been Aggie Bemis, Jim's old sweetheart.