"He _is_ his father's darling," said the woman, rising hastily, and standing face to face with Margaret. Neither of them spoke for a moment or two. Then Mrs. Boucher began in a low growling tone, gathering in wildness as she went on: "He _is_ his father's darling, I say. Poor folk can love their childer as well as rich. Why dunno yo' speak? Why dun yo' stare at me wi' your great pitiful eyes? Where's John?" Weak as she was, she shook Margaret to force out an answer. "Oh, my God!" said she, understanding the meaning of that tearful look. 
'He is his father's darling,' said the woman, rising hastily to face her. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Mrs. Boucher began in a low tone, gathering in wildness: 'He is his father's darling, I say. Poor folk can love their childer as well as rich. Why dunno yo' speak? Why dun yo' stare at me? Where's John? Oh, my God!' 