John Haveril shook his head with the deliberation and the expression of a bear. His mind was made up. The woman went on, but feebly—
"You can't like to own—you so rich, and all—that you've got a cousin in such a humble place as mine."
"You might help her to be respectable," her daughter put in.
"You can be respectable in any situation. I am quite as proud of you in your present situation as if you were what you want to be—a lodging-house keeper at Margate." He turned to her daughter. "My dear," he said kindly, "you are a little fool."
"Why? Oh, why?"—and her heart sank.
"Because you want to give up the best work that a woman can do, where there's pay enough, and holidays, and respect——"
The girl shook her head. "You don't know," she moaned, "the work and the drudgery."
"And to change it for the worst work in the world. My dear, you should be proud of being what you are. If you were in the States, you would feel proud of your work. What? Give up that work for a miserable little shop, where you must cheat to make both ends meet? Don't be silly. Go back and thank God, my dear, that He has put you where you can do some good."
She sat down and pulled out her pocket-handkerchief. Her mother stood beside her, her lips moving, her cheek flaming.