He was
so odd! He seemed to care nothing at all for appearances, and, as
everybody knows, this comfortable attitude of mind is the privilege of
the famous few. Besides, there was the matter of the marriage. Coombe
had been right in thinking that Mary Coombe had not gone into the matter
blindfold. She had known very well upon which side her bread was
buttered, and as to her giving way to his whims in the absurd way she
did--that, too, was understandable under the circumstances.
What puzzled Coombe, now, was how she had managed it. She was not
pretty, at least not very pretty. She was not young, at least only
comparatively young. And goodness knows, she was not clever! Hardly a
mother in Coombe but had at least one daughter prettier, younger and
cleverer; a daughter, in fact, who could give Mary Coombe aces and kings
and still win out. Why had the doctor not been attached to one of these?
It was incomprehensible. Even if, through a misplaced devotion to his
profession, he had determined to marry into a doctor's family--there was
Esther! Esther Coombe was a fine girl and quite nice looking before she
had begun to "go off.
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