“Why do you get up from dinner?—send them off,” his wife would say abruptly.
“Oh, I can’t do that. It’s no trouble just to hear what they have to say.”
“How many more have been here today? Why don’t you establish open house for them? They would soon oust me and the children.”
“You know dear, it doesn’t hurt me to hear what they have to say. And if they really are in trouble—well, it is my duty to help them out of it.”
“It’s your duty to invite all the rats in the world to gnaw at your bones.”
“Come, Christiana, it isn’t like that. Don’t be uncharitable.”
But she suddenly swept out of the room, and out to the study. There sat the meagre charity-seekers, looking as if they were at the doctor’s.
“Mr Crich can’t see you. He can’t see you at this hour. Do you think he is your property, that you can come whenever you like? You must go away, there is nothing for you here.”
The poor people rose in confusion. But Mr Crich, pale and black-bearded and deprecating, came behind her, saying:
“Yes, I don’t like you coming as late as this. I’ll hear any of you in the morning part of the day, but I can’t really do with you after. What’s amiss then, Gittens. How is your Missis?”