‘Well, see now. I couldn’t believe it, an’ I don’t rightly believe it yet. I’ll read you the answer as he’s sent me.’ Daniel gave forth the letter, getting rather lost amid its pretentious periods, with the eccentric pauses and intonation of an uneducated reader. Standing in a busy thoroughfare, he and Kate almost blocked the pavement; impatient pedestrians pushed against them, and uttered maledictions. ‘I suppose that’s Dick’s new way o’ sayin’ he hadn’t nothin’ to do with it,’ Daniel commented at the end. ‘Money seems always to bring long words with it somehow. It seems to me he’d ought to speak plainer.’ ‘Who’s done it, if he didn’t?’ Kate exclaimed, with shrill anger. ‘You don’t suppose there’s another man ‘ud go about telling coward lies? The mean wretch! Says things about my sister, does he? I’ll be even with that man yet, never you mind.’ ‘Well, I can’t believe it o’ Dick,’ muttered Dabbs. ‘He says ‘ere, you see, as he hasn’t time to contradict “idle stories.” I suppose that means he didn’t start ‘em.’ ‘If he tells one lie, won’t he tell another?’ cried the woman. She was obliged to put down her bundle on a doorstep, and used the moment of relief to pour forth vigorous vituperation. Dick listened with an air half of approval, half doggedly doubtful. He was not altogether satisfied with himself. ‘Well, I must get off ‘ome,’ he said at length. ‘It’s only right as you should know what’s goin’ on. There’s no one believes a word of it, and that you can tell Emma. If I hear it repeated, you may be sure I’ll up an’ say what I think. It won’t go no further if I can stop it. Well, so long! Give my respects to your sister.’ Daniel waved his arm and made off across the street. Kate, clutching her bundle again, panted along by-ways; reaching the house-door she rang a bell twice, and Emma admitted her. They climbed together to an upper room, where Kate flung her burden on to the floor and began at once to relate with vehemence all that Daniel had told her. The calumny lost nothing in her repetition. After listening in surprise for a few moments, Emma turned away and quietly began to cut bread and butter for the children, who were having their tea. ‘Haven’t you got anything to say?’ cried her sister. ‘I suppose he’ll be telling his foul lies about me next. Oh, he’s a good-’earted man, is Mutimer! Perhaps you’ll believe me now. Are you going to let him talk what he likes about you?’ Since the abandonment of the house in Wilton Square, Kate had incessantly railed in this way; it was a joy to her to have discovered new matter for invective. Emma’s persistent silence maddened her; even now not a word was to be got from the girl.