“But ye must!” she cried, desperately. “If ye don’t, what’ll I do?”
“Damn’f I know. But ye don’t tie me up in the t’ing, I know that.”
“You on’y think of yourself! What’ll Dick say? What’ll everybody say? I can’t face it, Mart; I can’t face it!”
She began to sob huskily; Martin prodded a stone with the toe of his shoe and reflected; he whistled a few bars from a popular song to convey an impression of carelessness; nevertheless he was troubled.
“Well,” said he at length; “what are ye goin’ to do?”
“It’s for you to say that.”
“Well,” deliberately, “I ain’t a-goin to do nothin’.”
“Ye don’t want to, I know.” Then she added after a pause: “I was to see Father Dawson, yesterday.”
“Eh?”
“He said he was comin’ to see you; and he said it was shameful.”