"You hold your tongue, mother! A nice couple, I do declare! Can you cook, Miss Independence?"
Posy removed her arms from James's neck, but she remained standing beside him.
"Cook? Not me. You know I can't cook. Why?"
"Thought not. Anything of a hand with your needle?
"No."
Quinney turned to Susan, who had sunk into a chair. The youth had faded out of her comely face. Every time that Quinney spoke she winced. A couple of tears were trickling down her cheeks.
"Why didn't you teach this young lady to use a broom, mother? Can she wash anything more useful than her own hands?"
Susan shook her head helplessly. The situation was far beyond her. She faltered out:
"Your orders, Joe. The child, you said, was to be brought up like a little princess."
He stared at her, dimly perceiving that his Susan could not be described truthfully as standing shoulder to shoulder with him.