Newton-le-Moor. She ceased to exert herself
to regulate the expenditure of the house, to preserve its
respectability, to wipe out the signs of its master's ruin. Old Miles
might strive to keep up appearances, but his mistress no longer aided
and abetted him. It had become a matter of indifference to Mrs. Gervase
whether the dragged carpet, the wrenched-down curtain, the shattered
chair, were removed or repaired, or not: she took no notice.

By the time Ashpound was budding in spring, Mrs. Gervase Norgate had
fallen away, and changed rapidly for the worse, to the disappointment
and with the condemnation of her acquaintances. She lay in bed half the
morning, dawdled over her breakfast, and trailed her way from place to
place, ageing too, with marvellous celerity.

Sunk in the mire as Gervase was, he noted the transformation in his wife
with discomposure and vexation. It fretted him always, and infuriated
him at times, to discover that she was likely to justify his contempt by
proving a poor wife after all. Her rule ended, her energy exhausted,
given over to an unprincipled, destructive listlessness and,
carelessness, such a prospect did not make Gervase amend the error of
his ways: but it caused his road to ruin to be harder to tread, it
caused the fruits of his vice to be more bitter between his teeth, it
drove him at times to reflect when it was madness to reflect. She would
not take the luxuries which she had bought dearly, which he wanted her
to take. Her person, drawing-room, flower-garden were fast showing
neglect and cheerlessness, in spite of him, or to spite him, as he vowed
savagely. Here was his sin cropping out and meeting him in the life of
another, and that other a woman. She was going to ruin with him as truly
and faithfully as if they had been a pair of fond lovers. The shy
goodwill of Gervase Norgate's early married life had waned into
discontent and dislike, and was fast settling into rooted hatred.

"Lawk!" Dolly the dairymaid reflected indignantly, "Madam is become as
careless and trolloping-like as master is wild. If we don't take care,
no one will continue to call on us and hinvite us with our equals. For
that matter, the mistress has denied herself to every morning caller
this spring, and it is my opingen she never so much as sends hapologies
to them dinner cards as she twists into matches. If it were me, now,
wouldn't I cut a dash of myself? She didn't care a bit of cheese-curd
for him, folks sa