MARY. What right has he to think of you at all? Impudence I call it.
RUTH. He has the right to think me traitor. I'm a renegade. I'm——
MARY. You're Mrs. Guy Barlow, my lass, and don't you forget it and start thinking of a famished weaver chap without a shirt to his back or a mouthful of bread for his belly.
RUTH. Is it as bad as that?
MARY. It's hard times, Ruth, harder every day.
RUTH. The men must be desperate.
MARY. They talk as if they were. But what's talking? They talked before you wed. They're talking still and I tell you things are worse.
RUTH. What's made them worse?
MARY. They say Guy has.
RUTH. But how?