"Uncle Christopher, you shall listen to good words. It fills me with pity, to hear an old man curse and blaspheme."
Mr. Benham had leaned against his pillows and glared at her with a man's disgust. She had talked on and on, and though he had shut his eyes and pretended to snore, she had not been turned from thrusting her piety upon him. It had ended in Squire Kit hammering the floor with the stick he kept on the bed, and Jeremy had arrived to rescue him.
"Jeremy, I say,—Jeremy——"
Winter had understood things at a glance. He had hooked up her arm, and walked her off by main force, and that was why they were quarrelling in the oak parlour.
"I wonder you don't keep away from here, Mr. Winter. You never do any good to Uncle Christopher and Jasper."
Jeremy was the imperturbable fencer whose laughing eyes and sage, sardonic mouth always filled Rose with anger. Her attacks amused him, and Rose Benham insisted upon being taken very seriously.
"So you think I have debased the whole household; Jasper, too, eh?"
"You have always been an irreligious man. You would have led poor father into all sorts of foolishness if we had not prevented it."
"Poor man!"
"I hate your flippancy."