Mr. Earlforward continued calmly and intimidatingly to read the account of the police-court proceedings, and then went on:
"There you are, you see. At our door, as you may say! But don't think Clerkenwell's the only place. It's everywhere, communism is. Ask Glasgow. It's what we're coming to. It's what all Europe's coming to. You may be sure if it's as bad as this in England, it's far worse on the Continent.... Oh, yes'. 'The magistrate warmly commended the girl Pieta Spinelly for her heroism and congratulated her on her lucky escape.' ... Yes, but she won't always be so lucky. And will any of us?"
Violet was just reflecting that to eat steaks with communism at the door was an act showing levity of mind and not seriously to be defended, when Elsie remarked, with surprising equanimity:
"Pieta Spinelly. That's my cousin."
Mr. Earlforward, profoundly agitated, crushed the paper together.
"Your cousin?"
"Your cousin, Elsie?" Mrs. Earlforward stood up.
The shock of learning that Elsie had any relatives or connexions of any kind, that she had any human interests outside Riceyman Steps, that she was not cut off utterly from the world and devoted exclusively to themselves—this alone would have sufficed to overthrow her employers, who had never since she entered their house, as a novice enters a nunnery, thought of her as anything but a "general." But that she should be connected by blood with communists and foreigners! ... Communists seemed to have invaded the very house, and civilization itself was instantly threatened.
"Yes, 'm. She's my Aunt Maria's daughter. My Aunt Maria married an Italian, an iceman, and his name was Spinelly.... Not as I ever saw them."
"Oh! So you don't see this girl what's-her-name?"