As though in answer she dandled the child. Then she lifted her face to his, and in her eyes there was the flash and challenge of a love so fierce that Ernie felt himself suddenly afraid. "I doosn't regret it," she said. "Never!--I'd goo through it all again for her sake and glad. She's worth it--every dimple of her!" And she laid her lips upon the child's with a passion that was almost terrible. "You done no wrong, whoever did," mumbled Ernie, awed still by this eruption of reality. "'Twarn't no fault o yours--or hers for the matter of that." Ruth rose and tossed her baby over her shoulder with an easy careless motion that frightened Ernie as much as it thrilled him. The child lying now face down, and doubled like a sack, sucked her thumb and regarded him with the blue eyes of her father. Together they walked across the field towards the yellow-daubed cottage with the steep brown roof and mass of honeysuckle over the door, standing with its back to the tumbled houses on the hill behind. "Mind, Ruth. I won't take no," insisted Ernie. "You need protection. A young woman like you do." "Never!" said Ruth. Ernie, unconscious of his companion's irony, ploughed on his ox-like way. "You don't know what men are," he continued. Her brown eyes flashed, and then dwelt on him with wistful humour. "I should," she said. "This last two year and all," she added with solemn bitterness. "I knaw now why girls go down. They makes one mistake, then the Alfs get em. And when the Alfs get em they're done. They're like stoats, Alfs are; and we're the rabbits. Hunt you down, jump on you, and then suck the blood out of your brain. Often I've seen em at it in the hawth." "Alf!" cried Ernie, his blood a maelstrom within him. He tried to halt, but she marched on. "What's he been doin to you?" hoarsely pursuing. She answered painfully. "You knaw yesterday?" "Yes." There was a harsh, almost cruel note in his voice. She turned on him, anger and laughter battling in her eyes. Then she saw a look upon his face, dark, sullen, and suffering, such as she had never seen there before. "I done no wrong, Ern," she said. "No need to be that savage wi me." He became quiet; and she resumed. "He's been goin on at me a year now--tryin to get me." "Does he want to marry you?" Ruth drew back her upper lip till the teeth gleamed white. She looked splendidly scornful. "Marry me!" she sneered. "That isn't Alf. He wants me--for his sport. Alfs don't marry--not the likes o' me anyways. That ties em down. They want the pleasure, but they won't pay the price." They had reached Frogs' Hall, mounted the high step, and entered. Ruth put the child to bed, and then rejoined Ernie in the kitchen. "Tell the rest," said Ernie. He was white and dogged. Again she gave him battle with her eyes; and again marked the look upon his face and relented.