"You silly cuckoo, d'you mean to say you don't know she's gone on you? Lot of pains she takes to hide it. You've only got to look at her to know."
At that the fire in him blazed out. He rose, bringing his fist down on the table.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said. "A low animal wouldn't say a thing like that. When she's been so good to you! Where would you be, I should like to know, if it hadn't been for Winny?"
She looked at him under her lowered brows; and in her look there was that strange tolerance, and mockery, and a feigned surprise. And with it all a sort of triumph, as if she were rich in some secret and insolent satisfaction and could afford her tolerance.
"Me?" she mocked. "Do you suppose it's me she comes for?"
"I don't know and I don't care. But as long as she does come you've got to be decent to her. See?"
"I am decent to her. I don't mind her coming. What difference does it make to me?"
"I should say it makes a thundering lot of difference, if you ask me. Considering the work you've managed to get out of her for nothing."
"It isn't my business. I can't help it, if she likes to come here and work for nothing."
"You make me sick," said Ranny.