She drove off to Donkey Street, carrying her scandal to its source. She was extremely angry—not that for one moment she believed in the truth of those accusations brought against her sister, but Ellen was just the sort of girl, with her airs and notions, to get herself talked about at the Woolpack, and it was disgraceful to have such things said about one, even if they were not true. There was a prickly heat of shame in Joanna's blood as she hustled the mare over the white loops of the Romney road.
The encounter with Ellen made her angrier still.
"I don't care what they say," said her sister, "why should I mind what a public-house bar says against me?"
"Well, you should ought to mind—it's shameful."
"They've said plenty against you."
"I'd rather have that sort of thing said about me than some."
"Ellen!"
"Well, the Squire's isn't a bad name to have coupled with mine, if they must couple somebody's."
"I wonder you ain't afraid of being struck dead, talking like that—you with the most kind, good-tempered and lawful husband that ever was."