“Now that there’s no one to ryse their voice agynst the disgryce brought on this family but me––”
“Speak right up, Jynie. Don’t be afryde. Madam 89 won’t eat you. She knows that you’ve come to give notice––”
Mrs. Courage struggled on. “No one ain’t goin’ to bow me out of the ’ouse I’ve been cook-’ousekeeper in these twenty-seven year––”
“Sorry as madam’ll be to lose you, Jynie, she won’t stand in the wye of your gettin’ a better plyce––”
Mrs. Courage’s roar being that of the wounded lioness she was, the paper shook till it rattled in Letty’s hand.
“I will be listened to. I’ve a right to be ’eard. My ’eart’s been as much in this ’ouse and family as ’Enery Steptoe’s ’eart; and to see shyme and ruin come upon it––”
Steptoe’s interruption was in a tone of pleased surprise.
“Why, you still ’ere, Mary Ann? We thought you’d tyken leave of us. Madam didn’t know you was speakin’. She won’t detyne you, madam won’t. You and Jynie and Nettie’ll all find cheques for your wyges pyde up to a month a ’ead, as I know Mr. Rashleigh’d want me to do....”
Shame and ruin! Letty couldn’t follow the further unfoldings of Steptoe’s diplomacy because of these two words. They summed up what she brought—what she had been married to bring—to a house of which even she could see the traditions were of honor. Vaguely aware of voices which she attributed to Jane and Nettie, her spirit was in revolt against the rôle for which her rashness of yesterday had let her in, and which Steptoe was forcing upon her.
Jane was still whimpering and sniffling: