'Look, look!' cried the outraged woman, thrusting her aside, 'see him sidle towards the door, instead of facing what is unpleasing. That has ever been his way. He has thrust himself into situations that were uncomfortable, into associations that proved irksome, has contracted ties that galled him, and he has never had the courage to accept the consequences of his own acts. As soon as all is not easy and troubles begin, he sneaks away like a coward――a coward that he is. He will never do that which is right, if right weighs over a couple of ounces. Coward! you who took from me my young hopes will take from me now my child. He contrived it; he is too mean to admit it. No!' She threw herself between the man and the door. 'He now seeks only how he may slip away. Coward, listen to what I have to say. Hide behind the window curtains, will you! I rejoice there is so much shame left in you. Listen. I ask of you one thing alone, and with that alone will I be content. I do not say acknowledge me! Whether I be your wife or no, God and the law alone can tell. Not that. That I do not desire. Nothing on earth would bring me to acknowledge _you_. That is what it has arrived at now, I scorn, hate you, so that no power could make me hold out this right hand and say "husband!" to so despicable a wretch. See. I have on the wedding-ring that you once gave me in the ruined church, blessed by the unfrocked parson. I pluck it off and cast it from me.' With trembling fingers she suited the action to the word, and the little gold hoop rolled to his feet. 'I should despise myself to think that I were linked for the remainder of my life to such as you. No, no, no! I desire nothing of you, not your name, not your money, not your protection. I can elbow my way along without aid from such a grasshopper as you. But there is one thing I will not endure, that you should tear my child from me. I know that she is a lady, and a lady let her remain. I will never do a thing to lower her before the world. And it is because I will not be parted from her that I humble myself to make one request of you. I do not ask you to let her acknowledge me as her mother. I am undeserving of that. But I do ask, let me see her, let me hear her talk, let me be near her, and for that I will be a scullery-maid in your house.' 'Mother!'