“No, ’um,” said Kettles, looking up at the strange lady.
“Nor the Clothing Club, nor the Coal Club? Does nobody visit your mother?” asked Miss Unity again.
“Nobody don’t come ’cept Mrs Margetts from the College,” said Kettles. “Father says—”
“Oh, never mind that!” said Miss Unity hastily, “we don’t want to know.”
“Please let her talk,” put in Pennie beseechingly. “Father says,” continued Kettles, her sharp eyes glancing rapidly from one face to the other, “as how he won’t have no ’strict ladies in his house; nor no pa’sons nuther,” she added.
As these last dreadful words passed Kettles’ lips the dean, rosy and smiling, went by on the other side arm in arm with another clergyman. Could he have heard them? He gave a look of surprise at the group as he took off his hat. Poor Miss Unity felt quite unnerved by this unlucky accident, and hardly knew what to say next.
“But—” she stammered, “that isn’t kind or—or nice, of your father, when they want to come and see you and do you good.”
“Father says he doesn’t want doing good to,” said Kettles, shutting her lips with a snap.
Miss Unity felt incapable of dealing further with Kettles’ father. She changed the subject hurriedly.
“What have you in that bottle?” she asked. “It would be better to spend your money on bread.”