phrase, it was when she spoke of her kinsfolk. The subject seemed
to throw her back into a former condition.

'He ought to go and live by himself' said Marian, referring to
her mother's brother, the thirsty John.

'So he ought, to be sure. I'm always telling them so. But there!
you don't seem to be able to persuade them, they're that silly
and obstinate. And Susan, she only gets angry with me, and tells
me not to talk in a stuck-up way. I'm sure I never say a word
that could offend her; I'm too careful for that. And there's
Annie; no doing anything with her! She's about the streets at all
hours, and what'll be the end of it no one can say. They're
getting that ragged, all of them. It isn't Susan's fault; indeed
it isn't. She does all that woman can. But Tom hasn't brought
home ten shillings the last month, and it seems to me as if he
was getting careless. I gave her half-a-crown; it was all I could
do. And the worst of it is, they think I could do so much more if
I liked. They're always hinting that we are rich people, and it's
no good my trying to persuade them. They think I'm telling
falsehoods, and it's very hard to be looked at in that way; it
is, indeed, Marian.'

'You can't help it, mother. I suppose their suffering makes them
unkind and unjust.'

'That's just what it does, my dear; you never said anything
truer. Poverty will make the best people bad, if it gets hard
enough. Why there's so much of it in the world, I'm sure I can't
see.'