She even brought him to Worge once or twice, but her family did not like him. This was partly because they were still the champions of the rejected Ern Honey, and partly because they resented his gruff manner, and harsh, rumbling speech. He did not shine in company—he was for ever boasting the superiority of Northumberland ways over those of Sussex, and even told Mus’ Beatup that he “spake like a fule” on American Intervention. He horrified Nell by drinking out of his saucer—a depth below any of the family’s most degrading collapses—and offended Harry and Zacky by taking no notice of them or interest in the farm. Indeed the only being at Worge he seemed to care about—not excepting Ivy, whom he almost ignored on these occasions—was Nimrod, the old retriever; to him alone he would smile and be friendly, hugging the old black head against his tunic, and patting and slapping Nim’s sides till he became demoralised by this unaccustomed fondling and frisked about with muddy paws—which was all put down to Seagrim for unrighteousness in his account with Mrs. Beatup. “Wot d’you want wud un, Ivy?” she asked once—“a gurt dark tedious chap lik that, wud never a good word for a soul—not even yourself, he doan’t sim to have—and a furriner too.” “He aun’t a furriner.” “He aun’t from these parts, like some I cud naum. You’re a fool if you say no to a valiant chap lik Ernie Honey and taake up wud a black unfriendly feller as no one here knows naun about.” “Well, he doan’t have to have his inside tied up wud a truss lik a parcel of hay, caase it falls out.” “You hoald your rude tongue. Wot right have you to know aught of Ern Honey’s inside? And better a inside lik a parcel of hay than a heart lik a barnyard stone. He’s a hard-hearted man, your sojer—cares for naun saave a pore heathen dog wot he brings spannelling into the kitchen.” “He cares for me.” “It doan’t sim lik it wud his ‘Eh, lass?—eh, lass?’ whensumdever you spik. Reckon you maake yourself cheap as rotten straw when you git so stuck on him.” “Who said I wur stuck on him?—he aun’t the fust I’ve kept company with.” “No, he aun’t. You’re parish talk wud your goings on. You’ll die an oald maid in the wark’us, and bring us to shaum—and Harry ull bring us to auction, and Tom ull be killed by a German, and bring us to death in sorrow. All my children have turned agaunst me now I’m old,” and Mrs. Beatup began to cry into her apron. Ivy’s big arms were round her at once.... 3 Relations between Ivy and Nell had always been a little uneasy. Ivy was tolerant and good-humoured, but could not always hide the contempt which she felt for Nell’s refinements, while Nell, though she did not despise Ivy, hated her coarseness—particularly since she could never see it through her own eyes alone, but through others to which it must appear even grosser than to herself.