Ruth. [With sudden fierceness] He can’t get anything to do.  It’s dreadful to see him.  He’s just skin and bone.

Cokeson. [With genuine concern] Dear me!  I’m sorry to hear that. [On his guard again] Didn’t they find him a place when his time was up?

Ruth.  He was only there three weeks.  It got out.

Cokeson.  I’m sure I don’t know what I can do for you.  I don’t like to be snubby.

Ruth.  I can’t bear his being like that.

Cokeson. [Scanning her not unprosperous figure] I know his relations aren’t very forthy about him.  Perhaps you can do something for him, till he finds his feet.

Ruth.  Not now.  I could have—­but not now.

Cokeson.  I don’t understand.

Ruth. [Proudly] I’ve seen him again—­that’s all over.

Cokeson. [Staring at her—­disturbed] I’m a family man—­I don’t want to hear anything unpleasant.  Excuse me—­I’m very busy.

Ruth.  I’d have gone home to my people in the country long ago, but they’ve never got over me marrying Honeywill.  I never was waywise, Mr. Cokeson, but I’m proud.  I was only a girl, you see, when I married him.  I thought the world of him, of course . . . he used to come travelling to our farm.

Cokeson. [Regretfully] I did hope you’d have got on better, after you saw me.

Ruth.  He used me worse than ever.  He couldn’t break my nerve, but I lost my health; and then he began knocking the children about.  I couldn’t stand that.  I wouldn’t go back now, if he were dying.

Cokeson. [Who has risen and is shifting about as though dodging a stream of lava] We mustn’t be violent, must we?

Ruth. [Smouldering] A man that can’t behave better than that—­ [There is silence]

Cokeson. [Fascinated in spite of himself] Then there you were!  And what did you do then?

Ruth. [With a shrug] Tried the same as when I left him before..., making skirts... cheap things.  It was the best I could get, but I never made more than ten shillings a week, buying my own cotton and working all day; I hardly ever got to bed till past twelve.  I kept at it for nine months. [Fiercely] Well, I’m not fit for that; I wasn’t made for it.  I’d rather die.

Cokeson.  My dear woman!  We mustn’t talk like that.

Ruth.  It was starvation for the children too—­after what they’d always had.  I soon got not to care.  I used to be too tired. [She is silent]

Cokeson. [With fearful curiosity] Why, what happened then?

Ruth. [With a laugh] My employer happened then—­he’s happened ever since.

Cokeson.  Dear!  Oh dear!  I never came across a thing like this.

Ruth. [Dully] He’s treated me all right.  But I’ve done with that. [Suddenly her lips begin to quiver, and she hides them with the back of her hand] I never thought I’d see him again, you see.  It was just a chance I met him by Hyde Park.  We went in there and sat down, and he told me all about himself.  Oh!  Mr. Cokeson, give him another chance.