"I cannot. Take me into the Poors' House."
"My good girl, this is rank nonsense. The Poor House is not for you, or such as you."
"I need its shelter more than most. I have no home."
"Are you gone off your head?"
"No, sir. My mind is sound, but to the Punch-Bowl I cannot, and will not, return. No, never!"
"Matabel," said the wheelwright, "I suppose you and Jonas have had a quarrel. Bless you! Such things happen in married life, over and over again, and you'll come together and love each other all the better for these tiffs. I know it by experience."
"I cannot go back! I will not go back!"
"It is not cannot or will not—it is a case of must. That is your home. But this I will do for you. Go in and ask my old woman to let you have some breakfast, and I'll send Jack"—he signed to his apprentice—"and bid him tell Bideabout where you are, and let him fetch you. We mustn't have a scandal."
"If Jonas comes, I shall run away."
"Whither?"