“Yes, by George! and nobody can say a word against her,” bursts in Dick Bedford, with a sob; “and she is as honest as any woman here!”
“Pray, who told you to put your oar in?” cries the tipsy captain.
“And you knew that this person was on the stage, and you introduced her into my son’s family? Oh, Mr. Batchelor, Mr. Batchelor, I didn’t think it of you! Don’t speak to me, Miss!” cries the flurried Bonnington.
“You brought this woman to the children of my adored Cecilia?” calls out the other dowager. “Serpent, leave the room! Pack your trunks, viper! and quit the house this instant. Don’t touch her, Cissy. Come to me, my blessing. Go away, you horrid wretch!”
“She ain’t a horrid wretch; and when I was ill she was very good to us,” breaks in Pop, with a roar of tears: “and you shan’t go, Miss Prior—my dear, pretty Miss Prior. You shan’t go!” and the child rushes up to the governess, and covers her neck with tears and kisses.
“Leave her, Popham, my darling blessing!—leave that woman!” cries Lady Baker.
“I won’t, you old beast!—and she sha-a-ant go. And I wish you was dead—and, my dear, you shan’t go, and Pa shan’t let you!”—shouts the boy.
“O, Popham, if Miss Prior has been naughty, Miss Prior must go!” says Cecilia, tossing up her head.
“Spoken like my daughter’s child!” cries Lady Baker: and little Cissy, having flung her little stone, looks as if she had performed a very virtuous action.
“God bless you, Master Pop,—you are a trump, you are!” says Mr. Bedford.