Josiah had taken a second egg and his frown was gone.

"We'll see about it, we'll see about it," he grunted; but his wife felt
more hopeful, and was even unusually solicitous of his wants in the way
of coffee and marmalade and cream. Josiah was shrewd if he did happen to
be deeply self-absorbed in his health, and he noticed that Theodora's
eyes were brighter and her step more elastic than usual.

He knew he had bought "one of them there aristocrats," as his old aunt,
who had kept a public-house at New Norton, would have said. Bought her
with solid gold--he had no illusions on this subject, and he quite
realized if the solid gold had not been amassed out of England, so that
to her family he could be represented as "something from the
colonies--rather rough, but such a good fellow"--even Captain
Fitzgerald's impecuniosity and rapacity would not have risen to his
bait.

He was also grateful to Theodora--she had been so meek always, and such
a kind and unselfish nurse. With his impaired constitution and delicate
chest he had given up all hopes of looking on her as a wife again, just
yet; but, as a nurse and an ornament--a peg to hang the evidences of his
wealth upon--she was little short of perfection. He could have been
frantically in love with her if she had only been the girl from the
station bar in Melbourne. Josiah Brown was not a bad fellow.