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Updated: September 16, 2025
It was a fresh voice that spoke these words, and Paul rose instinctively to his feet as he found himself face to face with his hostess. Mistress Devenish, as she was commonly called, was no ordinary buxom, loud-tongued farmer's wife, but a slight, small woman, of rather insignificant aspect, unless the expression of the face was taken into account.
In the present case, however, it was Ripton who were really in the better position. Apparently, Wrykyn had three more wickets to fall. Practically they had only one, for neither Ashe, nor Grant, nor Devenish had any pretensions to be considered batsmen. Ashe was the school wicket-keeper. Grant and Devenish were bowlers. Between them the three could not be relied on for a dozen in a decent match.
It seemed a feasible argument to her, in the whirling panic of her thoughts, that her admission would be fatal just as the prisoner in the dock pleads "not guilty" against all the damning evidence of every witness who can be brought against him. "I've been in about half an hour," she replied. "Did you dine with Devenish?"
So much had her spirits lifted in this deceptive atmosphere of diversion that Devenish even heard her humming a tune in the other room. And he smiled, looking up to the ceiling with hands spread out and fingers lightly playing one upon the other.
Not having to earn his own livelihood, or rather, having already earned it in the profession of matrimony into which he had entered in partnership with a wealthy woman, Devenish was a pride to the college which had turned him out. He knew most of those people in London who range in the category of worth knowing.
With Sally, notwithstanding all the circumstances that ranged against her in his mind, Devenish realized that an inconsidered step would be fatal to his desires. That did not thwart him. He admired her the more for it; wanted her the more.
It is surely not pedantic to hope that the purity of some women is still essential for the race, and it is surely not illogical to suppose that marriage is the means, in such cases as that of Sally Bishop, to this humble end. Pure, certainly, she had been, even in the eyes of such a man as Devenish; but in the light of a discarded mistress, all her virtue vanished.
Molaisse on the Island of Devenish in Loch Erne in Ireland, there is an artificially perforated stone, through which persons still pass, when the opening will admit, in order to be regenerated. If the hole be too small, they put the hand or the foot through it, and the effect is thus limited.
If Devenish did not know it instinctively, then he made his deductions from the fact alone that brought about the mentioning of the name of Coralie Standish-Roe. To him, with his own social knowledge of that young lady, the fact in itself was sufficient. By the time that Traill was ready, Sally came down prepared to go out.
By the way, you don't see anything of Devenish now, do you?" "No, nothing. We saw him that day at Prince's I hadn't seen him for two or three months before that I haven't seen him since. I don't think you can ever rely on a married man. Don't you know that line of Kipling's?" "Which?" "In 'Barrack Room Ballads' 'Fuzzy Wuzzy, I think." "Nothing about a married man, surely?" "No; but it fits him."
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