"
"It has always failed," said Mrs. Gresley, stung by the slackening of
his arm. Yes. In spite of the new baby, she would rather have a hundred
a year less than have this woman in the house. The wife ought to come
first. By first, Mrs. Gresley meant without a second. She had this
morning seen Emma laying Hester's clean clothes on her bed, just
returned from a distant washer-woman whom the Gresleys did not employ,
and whom they had not wished Hester to employ. The sight of those two
white dressing-gowns, beautifully "got up" with goffered frills, had
aroused afresh in Mrs. Gresley what she believed to be indignation at
Hester's extravagance, an indignation which had been increased when she
caught sight of her own untidy wrapper over her chair. She always
appeared to disadvantage in Hester's presence. The old smouldering
grievance about the washing set a light to other feelings. They caught.
They burned. They had been drying in the oven a long time.
"It has always failed," said Mrs. Gresley, with subdued passion, "and it
will fail again. I heard you tell Mrs. Loftus that you would never let
Hester publish another book like the _Idyll_. But though you say this
one is worse, you won't be able to stop her. You will see when she
comes back that she will pack up the parcel and send it back to the
publishers, whatever you may say.
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