"What is that to him or me? I told you and her I would have nothing more to do with either, since her name became so shamefully connected with my brother's. Will you be kind enough to relieve me of your presence?"
"My daughter is as pure as you. Her child, and your brother's is suffering from want. Will you pay me, at least, for our last work—the dress you have on?"
"How much?" was asked, in a sharp, quick voice.
"Five dollars."
"Outrageous! No, I will not pay that. Here are three dollars. Go, and never let me hear of you again."
"Julia Bland, I wish the world knew you as I do. You will grind to the earth your sister-woman, and give liberally where it will be known and said, 'How charitable—how good!' I say how hard-hearted—how deceitful!" said the woman, in bitter tones.
"Go!" came forth, in a voice quivering with rage.
Soon the hall door told the departure of the unwelcome guest.
Looks of amazement, beyond description, passed between the reverend gentlemen.
At length the younger one said: