SUSAN bursts in.
Sus. Yes, ma'am, and that you have! It's a wery improper place for the likes o' you, ma'am—as believes all sorts o' wicked things of people as is poor. Who are you to bring your low flunkies a-listenin' at honest girls' doors! (Turning to James in the doorway.) Get out, will you? Let me catch you here again, and I'll mark you that the devil wouldn't know his own! You dirty Paul Pry—you! (Falls on her knees to Mattie.) Mattie, you angel!
Mat. (trying to make her get up) Never mind. It's all right between you and me, Susan.
Mrs. C. I see! I thought as much!
Sus. (starting up) As much as what, then, my lady? Oh, I know you and your sort—well enough! We're the dirt under your feet—lucky if we stick to your shoes! But this room's mine.
Mrs. C. That linen was mine, young woman, I believe.
Sus. An' it's for that miserable parcel you come a-talkin', an' abusin' as no lady ought to! How dare you look that angel in the face there an' say she stole it—which you're not fit to lace her boots for her! There!
Mat. Susan! Susan! do be quiet.
Sus. It's all very well for the likes o' me (courtesying spitefully)—which I'm no better'n I should be, and a great deal worse, if I'm on my oath to your ladyship—that's neither here nor there!—but she's better'n a van-load o' sich ladies as you, pryin' into other people's houses, with yer bibles, an' yer religion, an' yer flunkies! I know ye! I do!
Mat. Don't, Susan.