Sus. That's as I say, Matilda! It's the dress makes the differ.
Mat. No, Susan, it ain't. It's the free look of them—and the head up—and the white hands—and the taper fingers. They're stronger than us, and they're that trained like, that all their body goes in one, like the music at a concert. I couldn't pick up a needle without going down on my knees after it. It's the pain in my side, Sue.—Yes, it's a fine thing to be born a lady. It's not the clothes, Sue. If we was dressed ever so, we couldn't come near them. It's that look,—I don't know what.
Sus. Speak for yerself, Mattie; I'm not a goin' to think such small beer of myself, I can tell you! I believe if I'd been took in time—
Mat. It's a big if that though, Sue.—And then she looked so good! You'd hardly think it of me,—perhaps it's because I'm dying—but for one minute I could ha' kissed her very shoes. Oh, my side!
Sus. (putting her arm tight round her waist). Does that help it Mattie, dear?—a little teeny bit?
Mat. Yes, Sukey. It holds it together a bit. Will he break her heart too, I wonder?
Sus. No fear o' that! Ladies takes care o' theirselves. They're brought up to it.
Mat. It's only poor girls gentlemen don't mind hurting, I suppose.
Sus. It's the ladies' fathers and brothers, Mattie! We've got nobody to look after us.
Mat. They may break their hearts, though, for all that.