'What yer 'aven't got, yer can't give,' she said. 'I don know nothin
about it, an I've tole yer. There's plenty o' bad people in the world--
beside me. Somebody came in o' nights, I suppose, an picked the lock--
there's many as 'ud think nothin of it. And it 'ud be easy done--we all
sleeps 'ard.'

'Bessie!' cried Mary Anne, outraged by something in her tone, 'aren't
yer sorry for 'im?'

She pointed to the haggard and trembling man.

Bessie turned to her reluctantly.

'Aye, I'm sorry,' she said, sullenly. 'But he shouldn't fly out at yer
without 'earin a word. 'Ow should I know anythin about his money? 'Be
locked it up hisself, an tuk the keys.'

'An them suverins,' roared John, rattling his stick on the floor; 'where
did yer get them suverins?'

'I got 'em from old Sophy Clarke--leastways, from Sophy Clarke's lawyer.
And it ain't no business o' yourn.'

At this John fell into a frenzy, shouting at her in inarticulate
passion, calling her liar and thief.

She fronted it with perfect composure. Her fine eyes blazed, but
otherwise her face might have been a waxen mask. With her, in this
scene, was all the tragic dignity; with him, the weakness and vulgarity.