"He's a nasty, stuck-up, greasy Jew. A decent young woman is insulted by being spoken to by him."
"What made you tell him that you were engaged to Frank Jones?"
"I thought it might protect me—but it won't. I shall tell him next time that I am Frank's wife. But even that will not protect me."
"You will have to see him very often."
"And very often I shall have to be insulted. I guess he does the same kind of thing with all the singing girls who come into his hands."
"Give it up, Rachel."
"I don't mind being insulted so much as some girls do, you know. I can't fancy an English girl putting up with him—unless she liked to do as he pleased. I hate him;—but I think I can endure him. The only thing is, whether he would turn against me and rend me. Then we shall come utterly to the ground, here in London."
"Give it up."
"No! You can lecture and I can sing, and it's odd if we can't make one profession or the other pay. I think I shall have to fight with him, but I won't give it up. What I am afraid is that Frank should appear on the scene. And then, oh law! if Mr. Moss should get one blow in the eye!"
There she sat, sipping her tea and eating her toast, with her feet upon the fender, while Mr. O'Mahony ate his mutton-chop and drank his whisky and water.