They took up their residence in a suburb of Newcastle, and this was
also unfortunate for them, because there the society was scanty and
middle-aged; and, in consequence, they had still to depend much
upon their own resources. They knew little of life, less of each
other, and nothing at all of themselves. Of course they
quarrelled, and each quarrel left the wound a little more raw. No
kindly, experienced friend was at hand to laugh at them. Mivanway
would write down all her sorrows in a bulky diary, which made her
feel worse; so that before she had written for ten minutes her
pretty, unwise head would drop upon her dimpled arm, and the book--
the proper place for which was behind the fire--would become damp
with her tears; and Charles, his day's work done and the clerks
gone, would linger in his dingy office and hatch trifles into
troubles.
The end came one evening after dinner, when, in the heat of a silly
squabble, Charles boxed Mivanway's ears. That was very
ungentlemanly conduct, and he was heartily ashamed of himself the
moment he had done it, which was right and proper for him to be.
The only excuse to be urged on his behalf is that girls
sufficiently pretty to have been spoilt from childhood by everyone
about them can at times be intensely irritating.
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