"Speak then," said the elder. She had not stood face to face with her sister for some years, and now she marked that Dorcas looked better far than of old. She had filled into neat matronly lines; her eyes were stronger; her gift of ready words was still with her. "’Tis this: I’m weary of the scandal between us. I’m looked up to and treated proper by other women, and ’tis a wonder to them all why you hold off as you do. I don’t want your friendship, God knows, nor yet your good word; but civility I’ve a right to ask for, and ’tis a beastly, obstinate wickedness in you that refuses it. Here, but three days since, Madge comed in and said how hard she’d tried again to make you see different, but not a kindly thought to your own flesh and blood have you got. A minute agone, if you’d known ’twas my child you’d picked up, no doubt you’d have let the poor little toad drop again. And Madge says you won’t make friends and be civil, even on the outside, out of respect to everybody; and I’ll ask you why and thank you to tell me." Rhoda lacked the usual armoury of women. Her mind moved slowly; her words did the like. She made no instant answer, but looked down into the angry eyes of Mrs. Screech and noticed her hands were wet and puffy. "’Tis washing-day with you, I see," she said in a mechanical voice. Why she made this remark she had not the least idea. It was certainly not meant as an offence; but Dorcas held such irrelevance as rude. "Never mind whether ’tis my washing-day or not. Please to answer me and give me a reason for what you’m doing year after year. I suppose you think ’tis terrible fine to stick your vartuous nose up in the air, and pretend you’m a holy saint and not a common woman. Terrible fine, no doubt--and terrible foolish--like many other terrible fine things be. Don’t you judge your betters so free, and sneer at every woman who does her first duty in the world and helps the world along; but look at home a bit and see what a nasty-minded, foul-thinking creature you be, without enough charity to keep your brains sweet. You was very fond of bally-ragging me in the old days, when I was a stupid girl and didn’t know what I was born for; but you shan’t come it over me no more, and I warn you not to try." Her voice was shrill, and Rhoda, listening to the sound, perceived another whom marriage had made a shrew. "What’s the use of this noise?" she asked coldly. "You can’t make me have aught to do with you or your children, and I refuse to do it. ’Tis playing with the past to ask the reason. You know the reason. I never would speak, and never will speak to any woman who does what you did. I’m jealous for women, and the like of you, that makes them a scorn and a laughing-stock, should be cast out by all right-minded females. Then such things as you did wouldn’t be done no more."