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    In John’s bedroom she chanced to open a leaf of the great triple-fronted mahogany wardrobe, to look if any clothes had been left hanging to share in the general dilapidation; and there, the first thing she lighted on was a shawl of “poor Jinny’s”— or what had once been a shawl, for it was now riddled like a colander, and all but fell to pieces as she touched it. For a moment Mary stood lost to her surroundings. What memories that shawl called up! Of softest white cashmere, with a handsome floral border, it had been John’s present to Jinny on the birth of their first child: “And if the next’s a boy, Jane, I promise you one of richest India silk, my love!” But, even so, this gift had filled Jinny’s cup to the brim. Mary could only remember it tied up with ribbons in tissue paper, and smelling of camphor to knock you down — Jinny had hardly dared to wear it for fear the dust should discolour it, or the sun fade the bordering. There had been quite a quarrel one day, when John and she were staying with them in Ballarat, because Jinny had visited the Ococks in her second-best. “Far from me be it, Mary, to inculcate an extravagant spirit in Jane, or encourage her to run up bills at the milliner’s. But she is now my wife, and it is her duty to dress accordingly,” had been John’s way of putting it. Well, poor Jinny, she might just as well have worn her finery and worn it out . . . as only have had it on her back some dozen times in all. She was gone where no shawls were needed.
    * * * * *
    “REALLY, Richard!” Mary made the deprecating movement of the chin with which she was wont to rebuke extravagances. “Why, dear, he was so high-falutin I didn’t know half the time what he was talking about.” Then fearing she had been too severe, she added: “Of course I’m very glad you were pleased,”— and hoped that was the end of it. Compliments, even from one’s husband, were things to be evaded if possible. “Well, I must remember poor Jinny and not hoard it up for the moths to get at.” But there was more than a dash of doubt in Mary’s tone, and she sighed. Not merely for Jinny. She did not know when another opportunity so splendid as this evening’s would arise. For an ordinary one, such finery would certainly be out of place.


    1.“Mean? Ruin, I suppose. In all probability I am a ruined man.” And dropping heavily on a chair, Mahony buried his face in his hands.
    3.Some six months later the Mahonys set out on their second voyage to England. They sailed by the clipper-ship ATRATA and travelled in style, accompanied by a maid to attend to Mary and both nurses. — And “Ultima Thule” passed into other hands.
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