He stooped down and fondly kissed his daughter; covered up her face, and turned to follow Margaret. She had hastily gone down stairs to tell Mary of the arrangement; to say it was the only place she could think of to keep him from the gin-palace; to urge Mary to come too, for her heart smote her at the idea of leaving the poor affectionate girl alone. But Mary had friends amongst the neighbours, she said, who would come in and sit a bit with her; it was all right; but father--
He was there by them or she would have spoken more. He had shaken off his emotion, as if he was ashamed of having ever given way to it; and had even o'erleaped himself so much that he assumed a sort of bitter mirth, like the crackling of thorns under a pot.
"I'm going to take my tea wi' her father, I am."
But he slouched his cap low down over his brow as he went out into the street, and looked neither to the right nor to the left, while he tramped along by Margaret's side; he feared being upset by the words, still more the looks, of sympathising neighbours. So he and Margaret walked in silence.
As he got near the street in which he knew she lived, he looked down at his clothes, his hands, his shoes.
"I should m'appen ha' cleaned mysel', first."

He stooped down and fondly kissed his daughter; covered up her face, and turned to follow Margaret. She had hastily gone downstairs to tell Mary of the arrangement, and to urge her come too, for her heart smote her at the idea of leaving the poor girl alone. But Mary had friends among the neighbours, she said, who would come and sit with her.
When Nicholas joined them, he had shaken off his emotion; and had even assumed a sort of bitter mirth. 'I'm going to take my tea wi' her father, I am!'
But he slouched his cap low over his brow as he went out into the street, and looked neither to right nor to left, lest he should see sympathising neighbours. They walked in silence.
As they drew near her home, he looked down at his clothes, his hands, and shoes.
'I should 'appen ha' cleaned mysel' first?'
