"No, you can't. I never deal here."
"Then what do you want?"
"Ah! that's another wonder which won't cease either, my dear," said the old woman, assuming an insinuative manner, "and a bigger wonder than the tother one."
"I don't want to hear it, I don't want anything to say to you. You must go out of the shop, Mrs. Watts."
"Don't be afeard of me, my love; the Lord knows I haven't been a trouble to you, though I've lived within a stone's throw, and could have dropped in here at any moment. But no, I says, let her keep to her fine stuck up people if she likes, and forget her oldest and best friends for 'em, and do her wust, it's not the likes of me or mine who'll poke our noses into her affairs. No, I says, let her keep a lady, and wear brown meriner dresses, and smart black aprons, and white collars and cuffs, for me!"
Mrs. Watts had verged into the acrimonious vein, taken stock of Mattie's general appearance at that juncture, and introduced it into her conversation with an ease and fluency that was remarkable.
Mattie stood watching her. This was the evil genius of her early life, and there was danger in her very presence. It was not safe to take her eyes from her.
"What do you want?" she asked again.
"It's somethin' partickler—shall we come into the parler?"
"Oh! no."