RUTH. Guy, you——
GUY. Be careful, Ruth, or you will have me doubting you again.
RUTH. And there's my father, Guy. Is he to hang as well?
GUY. You come of a race of fools.
RUTH. I believe that you can save him, Guy. For my sake, won't you let that old man live. My father, Guy? Your father's friend when they were young together.
GUY. Come here, Ruth. I'll strike a bargain with you. (He sits.)
RUTH. A bargain?
GUY. Yes, for your father's neck. We mustn't let our father hang, must we, my pretty?
RUTH. If what you want is in my power to grant——
GUY. It's in your power. We'll have a straightening out of things, my girl. They've got askew, and this night's work of yours is just the last knot that you'll tie. You meddle, girl. You are come of weavers' stock and weavers tend to meddling. You used to ask me questions, you worried me about the factory. I stopped your asking, but I didn't change your ways. You kept them, saved them up for this fine piece of meddling of to-night. Now Ruth, it's this. You're my wife. You're Mrs Barlow, not Ruth Butterworth. Your thoughts should be of my making, not your father's. You will give up attending other people's business and attend your own. Maybe if you had done that earlier we should have seen by now some sign of what I'm looking for from you. You know what that is, lass. I want an heir. Give me obedience, my Ruth, bear me a son, and this night's work shall be forgotten.