Tanner. Miss Ransome, this is not a subject I ordinarily discuss, but since you know what you do know, let me tell you that there is nothing worse than trying to interfere with the workings of nature, or—if I may say so—of God.
Janet. Well, Bob said the rich people do it. He said they must know how to do it, because they never have more’n two or three children in a family; but you’ve only got to walk on the next block—where it’s all tenements—to see ten and twelve in every family, because the workin’ people don’t know any better. But I don’t want no pity from anybody. I can take a chance on it. I got a pair of hands, an’ I c’n take care of myself.
Tanner. Mrs. Ransome, it’s no good my talking to your daughter while she’s in this frame of mind. She appears to have most extraordinary views. Mind you, I don’t blame you for it. She seems to be an intelligent girl. There’d be some hope for her if she’d show a little penitence—a little regret for what’s been done and can’t be undone. You know I don’t like preaching out of church, but you’ve often heard me say in the pulpit that God is always willing to forgive the humble and the penitent.
Janet (With fine scorn). “God” indeed. Don’t make me laugh. (Points to body of Bob.) Look at him lyin’ there. God? What’s God got to do with it? (She kneels again at the side of the couch, rigid and silent. After an uncomfortable interval, Tanner rises.)
Tanner. Well, I’m afraid I must be going. I feel very pained by what your daughter has said, Mrs. Ransome. You know I have a deep regard for you and your husband. I’m frank to say that if your daughter had shown some signs of penitence—some remorse for what has happened—I might even have gone so far as to have made the entry in the register—seeing the punishment she’s already had. But as she is now, I don’t see what good it would do. Really I don’t, so I think I’d better go.
Mrs. Ransome (Appealingly). Oh, don’t go, Mr. Tanner. Wait just a minute while I talk to her, please. Janet, can’t you say you’re sorry for what you done? Can’t you see that Mr. Tanner only wants to be fair with you? Come, do it for our sakes—your father and me. You know how hard he’s worked, how he’s keep teetotal an’ everything. You don’t want to ruin us, do you? Can’t you see it isn’t only yourself that’s got to be considered? Think of what we’ve done for you. Tell him you’re sorry for it, do!
Tanner (Rising). It’s no use, Mrs. Ransome. I can see it’s of no use. I really must go.
Mrs. Ransome. Just one minute more. Please wait one minute more. Janet, what’s the matter with you? Can’t you see the disgrace it’ll be to all of us? Can’t you see it will ruin us to our dying days? They’ll all laugh at us—an’ jeer at us. It’ll follow us around wherever we go. You know how the folk round here make fun of your father—because he keeps himself respectable—an’ saves his money. Do you want them to laugh at him? Do you want them to be laughin’ at you an’ talkin’ about you? Do you want them to be making fun of your baby—an’ calling it a bastard—an’ asking who it’s father was?
Janet (Nervously). They wouldn’t.
Mrs. Ransome. Yes, they would. An’ all the time he’s growin’ up, the other children in school’ll be tormentin’ him, and callin’ him names. Didn’t the same thing happen with Susan Bradley’s boy? Didn’t they have to go an’ live out in Jersey, cos she couldn’t stand it no longer? You know it as well as I do.