“The lover that kept you on the cliff-breast––Roland Tresham, he be the lover I mean.”
“Who told you I was with Roland?”
“I know that you were not at Mr. Tresham’s, for one called there to put you safely home.”
“I suppose Tris Penrose has been spying me and telling tales to father and you.”
“There be no need for Tris nor for anyone else to speak. Say to me, plain and straight, that you were not with Roland Tresham to-night. Say that to me, if you dare.”
“I have had such a happy day, mother, and now you have taken all the pleasure out of it––a mean thing to do! I say that.”
“Your father and I had a happy day, thinking of your happiness. And then to please that bad young man, who is not of your kind and not of your kin, you do stay out till bad birds and night creatures are prowling; till the dew be wetting you; till you 67 have sent your father off to the deep sea with a heart heavy enough to sink his boat––a mean thing that to do! Yes! yes! cruel mean thing!”
“Mrs. Burrell gave me twenty pounds. I had to do something to earn it.”
“My faith! I’d fling the twenty pound to the fishes. Aw, then, ’tis a poor price for my girl’s love, and her innocent heart, and the proud content she once had in her own folk. Only fishers! but God’s folk, for all that! But there! What be the use of talking? After Mr. Tresham’s flim-flams, my words be only muddling folly.”
“I am going to bed, mother.”