“Do you say you have a child down in fever?” said Susy Carter, speaking in a quick, passionate voice.
The Irishwoman was lounging with her back against the wall. She now started upright, and spoke defiantly.
“And why mayn’t I have my darlint child down with the faver?” she demanded, her eyes darkening with anger.
“Did you keep those flowers in the room with the sick child all night?”
“Yes, my purty, I did. Would you like a bunch? you shall have it chape. A ha’p’ny for this rose; it’ll look iligant pinned on the front of your dress. Now, then, only a ha’p’ny. Why, there ain’t no chaper flowers in the whole of London.”
“It’s very wicked of you to sell those flowers,” said Susy. “You may give the fever to a lot of other people by doing so. That’s the good of belonging to our Guild. We have a beautiful cool room to keep our flowers in at night, so that no one can be poisoned by them. They keep fresh, and they last, and they don’t carry horrid diseases about with them. It’s very wicked of you to sell those flowers. You ought to throw them away.”
She picked up her basket as she spoke and marched off.
Molly sat down, muttering angry words under her breath.
“I wonder you takes up with the likes of her, Jill,” she said, when she had cooled down sufficiently to address a few words to her companion.
Jill, who was in a day-dream, looked round with a start.