of the fraud practised upon them, nobly brought back their quarts of soup to the Kitchen and with proud independence of language demanded to have their money returned. On being met with a refusal, they—what think you?—emptied the soup on to the floor, and went away with heads exalted.
Vast was the indignation of Miss Lant and the other ladies. “This is their gratitude!” Now if you or I had been there, what an opportunity for easing our minds!” Gratitude, mesdames? You have entered upon this work with expectation of gratitude?—And can you not perceive that these people of Shooter’s Gardens are poor, besotted, disease-struck creatures, of whom—in the mass—scarcely a human quality is to be expected? Have you still to learn what this nether world has been made by those who belong to the sphere above it?—Gratitude, quotha?—Nay, do you be grateful that these hapless, half-starved women do not turn and rend you. At present they satisfy themselves with insolence. Take it silently, you who at all events hold some count of their dire state; and endeavour to feed them without arousing their animosity!”
