That the money made an enormous difference to Mrs. Tregenza's mental
attitude must be confessed. She found herself fashioning absolute excuses
for Joan. Girls so often came to ill through no fault of their own. The man
must at least have been a gentleman to pay for his pleasure in four
figures. Four figures! Here she stopped thinking in order to picture the
vision of a unit followed by three ciphers. Then she marveled as to what
manner of man he was who could send a girl like Joan a thousand pounds. She
never heard of such a price for the value received. Her respect for Joan
began to increase when she realized that the money was hers. Probably there
was even more where that came from. "Anyway," she reflected, "it ban't no
use cryin' ower spilt milk. What's done's done. An' a thousand pounds'll go
long ways to softenin' the road. She might travel up-long to Truro to my
cousin an' bide quiet theer till arter, an' no harm done, poor lass. When
all's said, us knaws the Lard Hissel weer mighty easy wi' the like o' she,
an' worser wenches tu. But Michael--God A'mighty knaws he won't be easy.
She'm a damned wummon, I s'pose, but she's got to live through 'er life
here--damned or saved; an' she's got a thousand pound to do't with. A
terrible braave dollop o' money, sure 'nough. To think 'ow 'ard a man's got
to work 'fore he earns five of 'em!" But her imagination centered upon Gray
Michael now, and she almost forgot the banknotes for a moment.
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