"It's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. “I can survive on my own. It was not for a week or a month. " Sir Rowland moved irresolutely towards the door, but recoiled before a sad spectacle. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. " Sir Rowland looked at her for a moment, as if he meditated some terrible reply. Carefully sustaining the child which, even in that terrible extremity, he had not the heart to abandon, he fell upon his knees, and, guiding himself with his right hand, crept slowly on. I just wanted a breath of air.
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