"No—only horrid and vulgar."
"Oh!" said Merton Densher.
Mrs. Lowder's soreness, it was still not obscure, had discovered in free speech to him a momentary balm. "They've the misfortune to have, I suppose you know, a dreadful horrible father."
"Oh!" said Densher again.
"He's too bad almost to name, but he has come upon Marian, and Marian has shrieked for help."
Densher wondered at this with intensity; and his curiosity compromised for an instant with his discretion. "Come upon her—for money?"
"Oh for that of course always. But, at this blessed season, for refuge, for safety: for God knows what. He's there, the brute. And Kate's with them. And that," Mrs. Lowder wound up, going down the steps, "is her Christmas."
She had stopped again at the bottom while he thought of an answer. "Yours then is after all rather better."
"It's at least more decent." And her hand once more came out. "But why do I talk of our troubles? Come if you can."
He showed a faint smile. "Thanks. If I can."