Mr.Raggles saw him in a public-house somewhere last night, and he was quite tipsy.' Lydia said nothing.

She held a market bag before her, and her white knuckles proved how tightly she clutched the handles.
'You remember what I once said,' Mary continued.

There was absolutely no malice in her tone, but mere satisfaction in proving that the premises whence her conclusions had been drawn were undeniably sound.
She was actuated neither by personal dislike of Ackroyd nor by jealousy; but she could not resist this temptation of illustrating her principles by such a noteworthy instance.

'Now wasn't I right, Lydia ?' Lydia looked up with hot cheeks.
'I don't believe it!' she said vehemently.

'Who's Mr.Raggles?
How do you know he tells the truth ?--And what is it to me, whether it's true or not ?' 'You were so sure that it made no difference what any one believed, Lydia,' said the other, with calm persistency.
'And I say the same still, and I always will say it?
You're _glad_ when anybody speaks against Mr.Ackroyd, and you'd believe them, whatever they said.