“If she could only work as she used, and be ‘beholden’ to nobody.”  She sighed and lay still, her mind an abyss of bitterness.

The stout newcomer, step-daughter to the unfortunate woman, turned to Anne, jerking her head backwards to indicate the other woman in bed with an expression of satisfaction which said quite plainly, “That’s the way to settle her.”  Then she ignored her totally, except that she moved as noisily, and spoke as loudly as she could.

She was a rather pre-possessing woman, with bold eyes and an obstinate mouth.  There was, so to speak, “no nonsense about her.”  She was one of those women of coarse fibre, whose chief diversion consists in annoying the sensibilities of others.  They exist more frequently in the middleclass than among the poor, whose common dependence teaches them forebearance if not pity, but they exist also among the poor, more terrible if not more merciless.  Such women almost always find material to torment close at hand.  Sometimes in the form of a dependent relative, sometimes a servant-girl, sometimes a weakly daughter, and this constant wreaking of a contemptuous spite upon one object produces a self-satisfaction which is mistaken for cheerfulness, an inward pleasure in hatred, which appears outwardly as good-humour.

The indignation which always awoke in Anne at the sight and expression of injustice flared suddenly upwards.  Facing the still satisfied woman, who now drew a chair across the flagged floor with the screech of its wooden legs upon the stone, she said: 

“How can you, a strong, active woman, take pleasure in worrying a sick and ailing fellow-creature.  Suppose you were in her place.  How can you expect to find mercy from God in the day of judgment if you have no mercy on others?”

The woman stared incredulously, and then broke into a loud laugh.

“And I thought you was such a quiet piece.  Fancy spitting out like that.”  Then her brutality of temper asserted itself.

“I’ve nothing to do with the day of judgment.  I don’t see why I should be called to look after a woman with the temper of a vixen that wants to be a spoiled darling.  The Union’s made for such as her and she ought to be in it.  It’s just her spite that keeps her out.”

“Have you no pity?” said Anne. “You may not always be strong and able-bodied.  The day may come when you need help and comfort, and how will you deserve it from God, if you torment your unfortunate sister in this way!”

The woman’s answer was a laugh.

“You’re as queer as they make ’em,” she said, with a slow, impudent stare from Anne’s out-of-date immense bonnet to her elastic-sided boots, as if looking for a point at which she might begin to torment a new victim.  But Anne’s sensibilities lay far beyond her understanding.

“Have you wore out all your grandmother’s clothes yet?” she demanded with her contemptuous, impudent look, “you’re a proper figure of fun in that bonnet!”