When he had lowered himself upon it, his face was nearly on a level with that of the old woman, who took no notice of him, but kept rocking herself to and fro and moaning.

He laid his hand on hers, which, old and withered and not very clean, lay on her knee.
"How do you find yourself to-night, Mrs.Gregson ?" he asked.
"I'm an ill-used woman," she replied with a groan, behaving as if it was my father who had maltreated her, and whose duty it was to make an apology for it.
"I am aware of what you mean, Mrs.Gregson.That is what brought me to inquire after you.

I hope you are not seriously the worse for it." "I'm an ill-used woman," she repeated.

"Every man's hand's against me." "Well, I hardly think that," said my father in a cheerful tone.

"_My_ hand's not against you now." "If you bring up your sons, Mr.Bannerman, to mock at the poor, and find their amusement in driving the aged and infirm to death's door, you can't say your hand's not against a poor lone woman like me." "But I don't bring up my sons to do so.