Mr. S. And do you mean to say that you would be guilty of such inhumanity—such devilish inhumanity (I use the word “devilish” in its religious sense) as to bring up an act of youthful folly—guilt if you will—against me now that I have achieved wealth, reputation, and social position?
Ruth. No, you’re safe, Smailey. Bring it up agin yer now? Why, you may have repented, who knows? You was a bad lot, sure enough, but that’s twenty years agone, and you may ha’ repented.
Mr. S. I have; I’m an altered person—I—I—will make it well worth your while to give me up that writing you refer to. I will pay you very handsomely for it.
Ruth. Pay! no; I ain’t on that lay. I’m square now. I’m a ’spectable woman. I only takes money wot I earns. It comes slow, but it comes comfortable.
Mr. S. Your sentiments do you credit. I confess I did not look for such delicacy of feeling in you; it exalts one’s idea of human nature. I am thankful for any thing that exalts one’s idea of human nature. Thank you, Tredgett. Give me these papers.
Ruth. No; I’m ’spectable, but I ain’t a fool. I’ll keep ’em, case I want ’em.
Mr. S. As you please. Remember, Tredgett, I am a person of influence here, and a county magistrate——
Ruth. What, d’you sit at quarter sessions?
Mr. S. Certainly.
Ruth. And sentence poor prigs?