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"What!" cried Jen, jumping up, "did Dido accuse your mother of the crime?" That night I did so many exercises that at last I sank exhausted in a chair in front of my mirror and put my head down on my arms and cried the real tears you cry when nobody is looking. I felt terribly old and ugly and dowdy and—widowed. It couldn't have been jealousy, for I just love that girl. I want most awfully to hug her very slimness, and it was more what she might think of poor dumpy me than what any man in Hillsboro, or Paris, could possibly feel on the subject, that hurt so hard. But then, looking back on it, I am afraid that jealousy sheds feathers every night so you won't know him in the morning, for something made me sit up suddenly with a spark in my eyes and reach out to the desk for my pencil and cheque-book. It took me more than an hour to reckon it all up, but I went to bed a happier, though in prospects a poorer woman. It's funny how Mrs. Johnson always knows what Mr. Johnson wants before he knows himself and gets it before he asks for it!.
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Conrad
In his turn Jaggard, but lately recovered from his illness, related how he had been drugged by Dido, and how she had been concealed under the bed. After his evidence, which did not take long, had been given, the principal witness for the prosecution was called, and the negress Dido, whose name had been so often mentioned, entered the witness-box. "Well," said Jen, growing weary of this long-continued conversation, which seemed to lead to nothing, "at all events you'll not escape a long term of imprisonment." "For God's sake, don't even hint at such a thing," he cried, vehemently. "It would be too terrible; and, as it happens, quite unbelievable. It is incredible that such a thing could occur nowadays." "Oh!" said Maurice, his thoughts flying back to the mysterious influence which he had seen Etwald exercise over Dido. "And what was the doctor saying?".
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