She called this intolerance "keeping up the character of her establishment." It would have been a better and more Christian thing, if she had kept up the character of her girls by tender vigilance and maternal care.
This evening, too, she was in an irritated state of temper.

Her brother had undertaken to drive her round by Henbury, in order to give her the unpleasant information of the misbehaviour of her eldest son, who was an assistant in a draper's shop in a neighbouring town.
She was full of indignation against want of steadiness, though not willing to direct her indignation against the right object--her ne'er-do-well darling.

While she was thus charged with anger (for her brother justly defended her son's master and companions from her attacks), she saw Ruth standing with a lover, far away from home, at such a time in the evening, and she boiled over with intemperate displeasure.
"Come here directly, Miss Hilton," she exclaimed, sharply.

Then, dropping her voice to low, bitter tones of concentrated wrath, she said to the trembling, guilty Ruth: "Don't attempt to show your face at my house again after this conduct.

I saw you, and your spark, too.