"Fellow, is this Pomander Lane?" she repeated.
"You 've a-lost yer bearin's, mum," replied the old tar huskily and not too cordially.
"What savages!" muttered the Lady as she turned to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "You! Is this Pomander Lane?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had laid himself out to fascinate her with his courtliest manner, but the "You!" with which she addressed him aroused the turkey-cock within him, and it was an icy and raging Brooke-Hoskyn who replied, "This, ma'am, is Pomander Walk!"
"Same thing," said the Lady contemptuously.
"Excuse me, ma'am—!" exclaimed Sir Peter hotly.
But she waved him aside and proceeded in a tone intended to be ingratiating, and therefore more offensive than any tone she could have chosen, "My good people"—imagine the Walk's feelings!—"I have undertaken to look after the morals of this part of your parish. I have made it my duty to give advice and distribute alms."
Morals—parish—advice—alms! Had the Walk ever heard such words uttered within its genteel precincts? The Lady turned to Ruth, who happened to be at her side. "Where are your children?"
Ruth stood aghast. She could only breathe indignantly, "I am a spinster."
"Are there no children?" said the Lady reproachfully.