"For it's never too late to mend, as the Scripter tells us, an' forbye ye're not in yer green gooseberry days there's those as thinks ripe fruit better than sour-growin' young codlings.

An' ye may take 'art o' grace for one thing--them as marries young settles quickly old--an' to look at the skin an' the 'air an' the eyes of ye, you beat ivery gel I've ivir seen in the twenties, so there's good preservin' stuff in ye wot'll last.

An' I bet you're more fond o' the man ye've got late than if ye'd caught 'im early!" Mary laughed, but her eyes were full of wistful tenderness.
"I love him very dearly," she said simply--"And I know he's a great deal too good for me." Mrs.Twitt sniffed meaningly.
"Well, I'm not in any way sure o' that," she observed.

"When a man's too good for a woman it's what we may call a Testymen' miracle.

For the worst wife as ivir lived is never so bad as a bad 'usband.