His rage was now cold and keen. He took in conspiracy with one glance at the three.
He spoke to Minnie. “I have been ringing for twenty minutes. The brandy in my room, and some soda-water. At once.” Scared Minnie fled. Then he turned half to Sanchia, but didn't look at her.
“I understood you were leaving this afternoon. You had better order a fly. There's the telephone.” He held out an envelope. “I think that you will find this correct.”
Sanchia was at her bureau. “Put it on the table, please,” she said, without turning; and while Ingram hovered, Mrs. Benson heaving like the sea, gathered into a combing wave and, breaking, swallowed him up.
“Money-ah! You come with money to a lady of the land! Offer me money, Mr. Ingram, if you dare. Your bread I've eaten, having baked it, and your father's bread, and not choked yet, though each mouthful might be my last. By every word out of the mouth of God, says the Book; and what shall He say of you? I've watched for this, I've seen it coming. You keep long accounts, but there's One keeps longer—and in His head, as we read. To breaking mother's heart so much, to scandal of matrimony so much—and to perjury and dirty devices, wicked dalliance, so much. When she came here—this fine young lady, so fresh and sweet—I wailed. I shook my fist at you, Mr. Ingram; 'I know what this means,' I said, 'a false tongue and a young heart.' And I waited, I tell you—for I could do nothing else. She could have come to me at any hour of any day and welcome; and I'd have told her, 'He's bad—he's rotten at the heart. He'll tire of you—neglect you—trick you—and cast you out.' But she was too proud for that; she bore it all, and not a word. And she did your work as never before, not in your time, nor your father's time; and made friends of the poor, and kept her place—sweetly and smoothly it was done. And you on your travels with foreign women—”
Ingram now emerged from the flood. “Are you mad?” he said. A dreadful calm came over Mrs. Benson, succeeding the tempest.
“'I am not mad, most noble Festus,'” she said; “but I am mother of a graceless son, and will not be cook to another. I leave your service from this hour. Your dinner is a-making, and Emma is a steady worker.” She turned to Sanchia. “The best vegetable-hand I ever had under me, Miss Percival, and I've had a score.” One further cut at Ingram she allowed herself. “I would not take a penny piece of your money now, not to save my darling from the lions.”
“You won't get it, you know,” said Ingram. “But you've had lots of 'em.” She braved that truth.
“And earned them, Mr. Ingram, as you know, better than I do.”
Ingram, ignoring her, observed quietly to Sanchia, “The sooner the better, I think.”