Ruth. He has the right to think me traitor. I'm a renegade. I'm---- Mary. You're Mrs. Guy Barlow, my lass, and don't you forget it and start thinking of a famished weaver chap without a shirt to his back or a mouthful of bread for his belly. Ruth. Is it as bad as that? Mary. It's hard times, Ruth, harder every day. Ruth. The men must be desperate. Mary. They _talk_ as if they were. But what's talking? They talked before you wed. They're talking still and I tell you things are worse. Ruth. What's made them worse? Mary. They say Guy has. RutH. But how? Mary. You'd better ask him. Don't you talk to him of the factory? Ruth. No. I tried to do at first, but he stopped me, and I thought I'd bide my time. Mary. You've a lot more sense than I ever gave you credit for. Ruth. Then I fell in love with Guy and I haven't cared for anything since that. Mary. I don't suppose you'd do a scrap of good. (_Rising as if to go._) Well, that's how it is. A terrible lot of barking, but not a bite amongst the lot of them. Ruth (_detaining her_). But there is danger there, danger to Guy. Mary. I tell you they, don't mean it. Ruth. Perhaps all don't. But one man might, and one would be enough. One man can press a trigger. Mary. There now! I've upset you. Ruth. Never mind that. You're sure that's all! Mary. All what? Ruth. All Martin said. Mary. You've got that fellow on the brain. No. _'_Twasn't all, then. He wants to meet you. Ruth. Tell him I will. Mary. I'll tell him no such thing, and you a married woman. Ruth. You'll tell him I will see him. Not here, though. He mustn't come here. Mary. And I'll not have my house put to such a use. So that settles it. Ruth. There is an old quarry on the moors. Martin knows. It's where the stone was quarried when they built the factory. I'll meet him there to-morrow night at eight. Will you tell him that, or must I write? Mary. Can Martin read? Ruth. I'm not sure. Tell him, mother. Mary. It isn't right, but---- Ruth. You will. I'm doing this for Guy. You've stirred me from my sleep at last. To-morrow night at eight. Mary. Well, I'll tell him. Ruth. That's right. There's Guy's step now. Mary. Then I'll be going. God bless you, lass. (_ Kissing her._) (_Enter Guy._) Guy (_to Mary_). Good evening. Mary (_apologetically_). I was just going, sir. Guy (_warming himself by fire, speaking over his shoulder_). Oh, don't hurry away. You'll find it cold outside. Mary. I must go sharp. If you're here it means factory's loosed and Matt'll be at home looking for his supper. Good night, sir. (_Exit Mary. Guy goes to Ruth with lover-like attitude. They are on the best of terms._) Guy. Well, little wife, how goes it? Ruth (_tensely_). Guy, I want to talk to you. Guy (_sitting by fire, lightly_). The sound of your voice is the sweetest thing on earth. I'm all attention. Ruth. This is serious, Guy. I've tried before to talk to you about the factory. You stopped me then.