"Oh, as for decency, they don't seem to have a shred of it amongst them. And the Hannays are not her own people. I thought I should be safe in going there after what you told me. And it was there I met her."
"I know. They were most distressed about it."
"And yet they received her, too, as if nothing had happened."
"Because nothing can happen now. They got rid of her when she was dangerous. She isn't dangerous any more. On the contrary, I believe her great idea now is to be respectable. I suppose they're trying to give her a lift up. You must admit it's nice of them."
"You think them nice?"
"I think that's nice of them. It's the sort of thing they do. They're kind people, if they're not the most spiritual I have met."
"You may call it kindness, I call it shocking indifference. They're worse than the Ransomes. I don't believe the Ransomes know what's decent. The Hannays know, but they don't care. They're all dreadful people; and their sympathy with each other is the most dreadful thing about them. They hold together and stand up for each other, and are 'kind' to each other, because they all like the same low, vulgar, detestable things. That's why Mr. Hannay married Mrs. Hannay, and Mr. Ransome married Lady Cayley's sister. They're all admirably suited to each other, but not, my dear Edie, to you or me."
"They're certainly not your sort, I admit."
"Nor yours either."
"No, nor mine either," said Edith, smiling. "Poor Anne, I'm sorry we've let you in for them."