"There's a lot of poetry in you, Kitty." "More than there is in her ?" asked Kitty, again indicating the region where Mrs.Crozier was.
"There's as much poetry in her as there is in--in me.

But she can do things; that little bit of a babywoman can do things, Kitty.

I know women, and I tell you that if that woman hadn't a penny, she'd set to and earn it; and if her husband hadn't a penny, she'd make his home comfortable just the same somehow, for she's as capable as can be.

She had her things unpacked, her room in order herself--she didn't want your help or mine--and herself with a fresh dress on before you could turn round." Kitty's eyes softened still more.

"Well, if she'd been poor he would never have left her, and then they wouldn't have lost five years--think of it, five years of life with the man you love lost to you!--and there wouldn't be this tough old knot to untie now." "She has suffered--that little sparrow has suffered, I tell you, Kitty.
She has a grip on herself like--like--" "Like Mr.Crozier with a broncho under his hand," interjected Kitty.
"She's too neat, too eternally spick and span for me, mother.