"D'you think I haven't?"
"I wasn't meaning you, my dear. Come, I'm ready now."
They went downstairs. Mrs. Ransome paused at the kitchen door to give some final directions to Mabel, the maid, and a message for Mr. Ponting, the assistant; and they went out.
As they were going down the High Street, her thoughts reverted to Ranny's awful outburst.
"Ranny, I wish you hadn't spoken to your uncle like you did."
"I know, Mother—but he set my back up. He was talkin' through his Sunday hat all the time, pretendin' to stick up for Virelet, knowin' perfectly well what she is, and cussin' and swearin' at her for it in his heart, and naggin' at me because there wasn't anybody else to go for."
"He was trying to help you, Ranny."
"If God can't help me, strikes me it's pretty fair cheek of Uncle to presume—" He meditated.
"But he wasn't tryin' to help me. He was thinkin' how he could help his own damned respectability all the blessed time. He knows what a bloomin' hell it's been for Virelet and me this last year—and he'd have forced us back into it—into all that misery—just to save his own silly skin."
"No, dear, it isn't that. He doesn't think Vi'let should be let go on living like she is if you can stop her. He thinks it isn't proper."