"Well, you must just about keep awake. I can't let it stay over any longer. Here you've been back five hour, and not a word passed between us."
"On the contrary, we have had some intelligent conversation for the first time in our lives."
"You call that rot about furriners 'intelligent conversation'? Well, all I can say is that it's like you—all pretence. One ud think you'd just come back from a pleasure-trip abroad instead of from a wicked life that you should ought to be ashamed of."
For the first time a flush darkened the heavy whiteness of Ellen's skin.
"So you want to rake up the past? It's exactly like you, Jo—'having things out,' I suppose you'd call it. How many times in our lives have you and I 'had things out'?—And what good has it ever done us?"
"I can't go on all pretending like this—I can't go on pretending I think you an honest woman when I don't—I can't go on saying 'It's a fine day' when I'm wondering how you'll fare in the Day of Judgment."
"Poor old Jo," said Ellen, "you'd have had an easier life if you hadn't lived, as they say, so close to nature. It's just what you call pretences and others call good manners that make life bearable for some people."
"Yes, for 'some people' I daresay—people whose characters won't stand any straight talking."
"Straight talking is always so rude—no one ever seems to require it on pleasant occasions."
"That's all nonsense. You always was a squeamish, obstropulous little thing, Ellen. It's only natural that having you back in my house—as I'm more than glad to do—I should want to know how you stand. What made you come to me sudden like that?"