ances.
She had been perfectly sincere when she had told Mary Lawrie that
Mr Whittlestaff was entitled to have and to enjoy his own wishes as
against both of them. In the first place, he was a man,--and as a
man, was to be indulged, at whatever cost to any number of women. And
then he was a man whose bread they had both eaten. Mary had eaten
his bread, as bestowed upon her from sheer charity. According to
Mrs Baggett's view of the world at large, Mary was bound to deliver
herself body and soul to Mr Whittlestaff, were "soul sacrifice"
demanded from her. As for herself, her first duty in life was to look
after him were he to be sick. Unfortunately Mr Whittlestaff never
was sick, but Mrs Baggett was patiently looking forward to some
happy day when he might be brought home with his leg broken. He had
no imprudent habits, hunting, shooting, or suchlike; but chance might
be good to her. Then the making of all jams and marmalades, for which
he did not care a straw, and which he only ate to oblige her, was a
comfort to her. She could manage occasionally to be kept out of her
bed over some boiling till one o'clock; and then the making of butter
in the summer would demand that she should be up at three. Thus
she was enabled to consider that her normal hours of work were
twenty-two out of the twenty-four. She did not begrudge them in the
least, thinking that they were all due to Mr Whittlestaff. Now Mr
Whittlestaff wanted a wife, and, of course, he ought to have her.
His Juggernaut's car must roll on its course over her body or Mary
Lawrie's. But she could not be expected to remain and behold Mary
Lawrie's triumph and Mary Lawrie's power. That was out of the
question, and as she was thus driven out of the house, she was
entitled to show a little of her ill humour to the proud bride. She
must go to Portsmouth;--which she knew was tantamount to a living
death. She only hated one person in all the world, and he, as she
knew well, was living at Portsmouth. There were to her only two
places in the world in which anybody could live,--Croker's Hall and
Portsmouth. Croker's Hall was on the whole the proper region set
apart for the habitation of the blest. Portsmouth was the other
place,--and thither she must go. To remain, even in heaven, as
housekeeper to a young woman, was not to be thought of. It was
written in the book of Fate that she must go; but not on that account
need she even pretend to keep her temper.

"What's all this that