little 'ome—(five of us always in the room, there wos, countin' the youngest biby, an' our clo'es an' beddin' wasn't wilets nor yet hotter o' roses, an' that bloomin' biby was allus ill, the aggerawatin' brat)—an' lookin' rahnd most disapprovin' like.
"‘Abaht twenty, as a rule,' says Muvver. "‘Ow many does your She-reverence do?'
"'The kind lidy put this question aside. She was out to hask, an' it shall be answered unto you.
"‘What's your husband, my good woman?' was the nex'.
"‘A waster. A drunken, idle, wife-beatin', spongin' swine, your She-reverence. Wot's yours?’ ses Muvver.
"Again the kind lidy took no notice o' the question.
"‘This room's very untidy,' says she.
"‘I 'ad a hidea it were,' replies Muvver. 'I'm afraid all the maids 'ave got their day out, to-day. Would your 'oliness like to tidy it up?'
"‘Can you not take a pride in your home?' says the good lidy.
