“I’m sure I never dreamed that things would ’appen like what ’as ’appened—and us all one family, as you might sye—’opin’ the best of everyone––”
“Jynie, stop,” Mrs. Courage’s voice had become low and firm, with emotion in its tone, making Letty catch her breath. “My ’eart’s breakin’, and I ain’t a-goin’ to let it break without mykin’ them that’s broken it know what they’ve done to me.”
“Now, Mary Ann,” Steptoe tried to say, peaceably, “madam’s grytely pressed for time––”
“’Enery Steptoe, do you suppose that you’re the only one in the world as ’as loved that boy? Ain’t ’e my boy just as much as ever ’e was yours?”
“’E’s boy to them as stands by ’im, Mrs. Courage—and stands by them that belongs to ’im. The first thing you do is to quit––”
“I’m not quittin’; I’m druv out. I’m druv out at a hour’s notice from the ’ome I’ve slyved for all my best years, leavin’ dishonor and wickedness in my plyce––”
Letty could endure no more. Dashing to the floor the paper behind which she crouched she sprang to her feet.
“Is that me?” she demanded.
The surprise of the attack caught Mrs. Courage off her guard. She could only open her mouth, and close it again, soundlessly and helplessly. Jane stared, her curiosity gratified at last. Nettie turned to whisper to Jane, “There; what did I tell you? The commonest thing!” Steptoe nodded his head quietly. In this little creature with her sudden flame, eyes all fire 91 and cheeks of the wine-colored damask rose, he seemed to find a corroboration of his power of divining character.