_Mrs. C._ You have only her word for it. If you don't give _her_ up, I give _you_ up. _Mat_. I can't, ma'am. She might go into bad ways if I did. _Mrs. C._ She can't well get into worse. Her language! You would do ever so much better without her. _Mat_. I daren't, ma'am. I should never get it off my conscience. _Mrs. C._ Your conscience indeed! (_rising_). I wish you a good morning, Miss Pearson.--(_Sound of a blow, followed by scuffling_.)--What is that? I fear I have got into an improper place. SUSAN _bursts in_. _Sus_. Yes, ma'am, and that you have! It's a _wery_ improper place for the likes o' you, ma'am--as believes all sorts o' wicked things of people as is poor. Who are you to bring your low flunkies a-listenin' at honest girls' doors! (_Turning to James in the doorway_.) Get out, will you? Let me catch you here again, and I'll mark you that the devil wouldn't know his own! You dirty Paul Pry--you! (_Falls on her knees to Mattie_.) Mattie, you angel! _Mat_. (_trying to make her get up_) Never mind. It's all right between you and me, Susan. _Mrs. C._ I see! I thought as much! _Sus_. (_starting up_) As much as what, then, my lady? Oh, _I_ know you and your sort--well enough! We're the dirt under your feet--lucky if we stick to your shoes! But this room's mine. _Mrs. C._ That linen was mine, young woman, I believe. _Sus_. An' it's for that miserable parcel you come a-talkin', an' abusin' as no lady ought to! How dare you look that angel in the face there an' say she stole it--which you're not fit to lace her boots for her! There! _Mat_. Susan! Susan! do be quiet. _Sus_. It's all very well for the likes o' me (_courtesying spitefully_)--which I'm no better'n I should be, and a great deal worse, if I'm on my oath to your ladyship--that's neither here nor there!--but _she's_ better'n a van-load o' sich ladies as you, pryin' into other people's houses, with yer bibles, an' yer religion, an' yer flunkies! _I_ know ye! I _do_! _Mat_. Don't, Susan. _Sus_. Why don't ye go an' pay twopence a week to somebody to learn ye good manners? I been better brought up myself. _Mrs. C._ I see I was wrong: I ought at once to have handed the matter over to the police. _Sus_. The perlice, indeed!--You get out of this, ma'am, or I'll make you!--you and your cowardly man-pup there, as is afraid to look me in the face through the crack o' the door! Get out, I say, with your--_insolence_--that's your word! _Exit_ MRS. CLIFFORD. _Mat_. Susan! Susan! what is to become of us? _Sus_. She daren't do it--the old scrooge! But just let her try it on! See if I don't show her up afore the magistrate! Mattie! I'll work my fingers to the bone for you. I would do worse, only you won't let me. I'll go to the court, and tell the magistrate you're a-dyin' of hunger, which it's as true as gospel. _Mat_. They'd send me to the workhouse, Sukey. _Sus_. There _must_ be some good people somewheres, Mattie.