were spoken; more
than once ere now it had been the preliminary of decided action. Already
Richard had reached the head of the stairs, when he heard a key turn,
and the bedroom door was thrown open with such violence that the walls
shook. He approached the threshold and examined the interior.

There was only one noticeable change in the appearance of the bedroom
since he had last seen it. The dressing-table was drawn near to the
fire, and on it were a cup and saucer, a few plates, some knives, forks,
and spoons, and a folded tablecloth. A kettle and a saucepan stood on
the fender. Her bread and butter Mrs. Mutimer kept in a drawer. All the
appointments of the chamber were as clean and orderly as could be.

The sight of his mother's face all but stilled Richard's anger; she was
yellow and wasted; her hair seemed far more grizzled than he remembered
it. She stood as far from him as she could get, in an attitude not
devoid of dignity, and looked him straight in the face. He closed the
door.

'Mother, I've not come here to quarrel with you,' Mutimer began, his
voice much softened. 'What's done is done, and there's no helping it. I
can understand you being angry at first, but there's no sense in making
enemies of us all in this way. It can't go on any longer--neither for
your sake nor ours. I want to talk reasonably, and to make some kind of
arrangement.'

'You want to get me out o' the 'ouse. I'm ready to go, an' glad to go.
I've earnt my livin' before now, an' I'm not so old but I can do it
again. You always was one for talkin', but the fewest words is best.
Them as talks most isn't allus the most straightfor'ard.'

'It isn't that kind of talk that'll do any good, mother. I tell you
again, I'm not going to use angry words; You know perfectly well I've
never behaved badly to you, and I'm not going to begin now. What I've
got to say is that you've no right to go on like this. Whilst you've
been shutting yourself up in this room, there's Alice living by herself,
which it isn't right she should do; and there's 'Arry going to the bad
as fast as he can, and just because you won't help to look after him. If
you'll only think of it in the right way, you'll see that's a good deal
your doing. If 'Arry turns out a scamp and a blackguard, it's you that
'll be greatly to blame for it. You might have helped to look after
him. I always thought you'd more common sense. You may say what you like
about me, and I don't care; but when yo