"The law is more tolerant than you, Emilius."
"There is a moral law and a law of honour. You are not living by yourself. As long as you are in Victor's house the least you can do is to avoid giving offence. Have you no consideration for your family? You say you came here to be near us. Have you thought of us? Have you thought of the children? Do you expect Caroline to go to Victor's house if she's to meet the Unitarian minister and his wife?"
"You will be cutting yourself off completely, Lavinia," Mamma said.
"From what?"
"From everybody. People don't call on Nonconformists. If there were no higher grounds—"
"Oh—Caroline—" Aunt Lavvy breathed it on a long sigh.
"It's all very well for you. But you might think of your sister
Charlotte," Mamma said.
Papa's beard jerked. He drew in his breath with a savage guttural noise.
"A-ach! What's the good of talking?"
He had gone on eating all the time. There was a great pile of chicken bones on his plate.
Aunt Lavvy turned. "Emilius—for thirty-three years"—her voice broke as she quivered under her loaded anguish—"for thirty-three years you've shouted me down. You haven't let me call my soul my own. Yet it is my own—"