“’E canna ’elp ’isself, Duckie, it’s th’ make o’ th’ fellow.”
She thought about it, then she laughed nervously. And then she bethought herself, her cheeks flushed, and she cried:
“He’s a horrid man.”
“Nay, he’s non horrid; he canna help it if he wor struck that road.”
But when poor Nat came wambling in again, she slid away. And she would not eat his nuts, if the men bought them for her. And when the farmers gambled at dominoes for them, she was angry.
“They are dirty-man’s nuts,” she cried.
So a revulsion started against Nat, who had not long after to go to the workhouse.
There grew in Brangwen’s heart now a secret desire to make her a lady. His brother Alfred, in Nottingham, had caused a great scandal by becoming the lover of an educated woman, a lady, widow of a doctor. Very often, Alfred Brangwen went down as a friend to her cottage, which was in Derbyshire, leaving his wife and family for a day or two, then returning to them. And no one dared gainsay him, for he was a strong-willed, direct man, and he said he was a friend of this widow.
One day Brangwen met his brother on the station.
“Where are you going to, then?” asked the younger brother.