“I wonder he ain’t afraid of another beating,” said one of the topers.
“He gets drunk so as not to be afraid,” replied another.
Ursula’s heart almost failed her when she saw the miserable little creature come lurching down the lane. Oh, the humiliation of condescending to such a low hound as this! At this moment, standing awaiting his approach, she touched the lowest depth in all her long descent of suffering.
She had not made up her mind what to do. She had no plan. Only she was resolved, in accordance with her character, immediately to face uncertainty.
He slouched up and jerked his hat, “And what can I do for you, ma’am?” he said.
She sickened at his manner, feeling as if a snail were creeping across her hand. “Answer a simple question,” she replied. “What do you want of me?”
He swayed to and fro, passing his hand across his eyes. “I’m a poor man,” he said, “a very poor man. A little money never comes amiss.”
“Money?” she echoed. “What should I give you money for? Drink? You will get no black-mail out of me!” Her gorge rose; she felt her pulse grow steady again.
“Now, ma’am, best be civil,” remonstrated Skiff, with tipsy ferocity. “Black-mail isn’t the word, yet there’s stories enough about you to make a little hush-money worth your while. You’d better pay up, my lady; you’d better pay up!”
“Threats! And to me!” exclaimed Ursula, scornfully. But at this moment the cottage door was thrown open and Adeline came running out.