Eliza:
A bairn’s a bairn—
Ay, even though its mother ...
(Breaks off abruptly, and stands, gazing before her, clasping the baby to her bosom.)
Judith:
Why don’t you finish?
“Ay, even though its mother ...” you were saying.
Eliza:
It’s ill work, calling names.
Judith:
You needn’t fear
To make me blush by calling me any name
That hasn’t stung me to the quick already.
My pious father had a holy tongue;
And he had searched the Scriptures to some purpose.
Eliza (gazing before her in an abstracted manner):