"How? Why, as any other man would. You should have made her work, work with her 'ands, as I told you, 'stead of giving her her head, like you did, and lettin' her sit bone-idle in that gimcrack doll-house of yours from morning till night. Why, you should have taken a stick to her. There's many a man as would, before he'd 'a' let it come to that. Damn me if I know why you didn't."
"Well, really, Mr. Usher, I suppose I couldn't forget she was a woman."
"Woman? Woman? I'd 'a' womaned 'er! Look 'ere, my boy, it's a sad business, and there's no one sorrier for you than I am, but there's no good you and me broodin' mournful over what she's done. Course she'd do it, 's long's you let her. You hadn't ought to 'ave let 'er. And seein' as how you have, seems to me what you've got to do now is to take her back again."
"I can't take her back again."
"And why not?"
"Because of the children—for one thing."
That argument had its crushing effect on Mr. Usher. It made him pause a perceptible moment before he answered.
"Well—you needn't look to me and her mother to 'ave her—"
Randall rose, as much as to say that this was enough; it was too much; it was the end.
"We've done with her. You took her out of our 'ands what 'ad a hold on her, and you owe it to her mother and me to take her back."