Mrs. Hanson stalked across the room, she went to a corner by the fireplace, in that corner stood the stout old stick that had supported her husband's declining years. She had always kept that stick in the corner, it was more homely to see it there. She took it now, she came back to Betty.
"Will 'ee marry this good man?"
"No!"
One, two, three, down came the stick, heavily across the slender shoulders. The girl's eyes filled with tears, born of the smart of the blows, but she kept her white teeth clenched.
"I ask 'ee again, will 'ee name the day?"
"No, never!"
Thud, thud, thud!
Ahram Lestwick leaned forward, he stared at them both. He was tearing the threads out of the fringe of the cheap tablecloth now. He watched Betty's face without emotion. "Dogged abst'nate her be!" he muttered.
"Betty Hanson, my mind be made up! Will 'ee take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for better an' for worser, till death du 'ee part?"
"I wun't, I hate him!"