"Father," said Polly, "shall I give you a drink?" Neefit muttered something, and took the cold tea that was offered to him. It was cold tea, with just a spoonful of brandy in it to make it acceptable. "Father, there ought to be an end of all this;—oughtn't there?"
"I don't know about no ends. I'll be down on him yet."
"No you won't, father. And why should you? He has done nothing wrong to you or me. I wouldn't have him if it was ever so."
"It's all been your fault, Polly."
"Yes;—my fault; that I wouldn't be made what you call a lady; to be taken away, so that I'd never see any more of you and mother!" Then she put her hand gently on his shoulder. "I couldn't stand that, father."
"I'd make him let you come to us."
"A wife must obey her husband, father. Mother always obeyed you."
"No, she didn't. She's again me now."
"Besides, I don't want to be a lady," said Polly, seeing that she had better leave that question of marital obedience; "and I won't be a lady. I won't be better than you and mother."
"You've been brought up better."