Mrs Partridge, who had recovered her nerve, came as near cursing as her placid, selfish nature would permit.

She could have bitten her tongue for spite.

She thought of a thousand ways of explaining away the hat.
She should have said that a friend had lent it to her; that she had bought it for half price at a sale.

She had meant to show it to William some night after his beer with a plausible story, but his sudden appearance had upset her apple-cart, and the lie had slipped out unawares.

She wasn't afraid of William, she scorned him in her heart.
And now that little devil must keep it, for if she went back on her word it would put William on the track of other little luxuries that she squeezed out of his wages unknown to him--luxuries whose chief charm lay in their secrecy.