They were, as it chanced, Nature's woman in him plucking at her separated partner, Custom's man; something of an oriental voluptuary on his isolated regal seat; and he would suck the pleasures without a descent into the stale old ruts where Life's convict couple walk linked to one another, to their issue more.
There was also a cold curiosity to see the male infant such a mother would have.

The grandson of Old Lawless might turn out a rascal,--he would be no mean one, no coward.
That mother, too, who must have been a touch astonished to find herself a mother:--Fleetwood laughed a curt bark, and heard rebukes, and pleaded the marriage-trap to the man of his word; devil and cherub were at the tug, or say, dog and gentleman, a survival of the schoolboy--that mother, a girl of the mountains, perhaps wanted no more than smoothing by the world.

'It is my husband' sounded foolish, sounded freshish,--a new note.

Would she repeat it?
The bit of simplicity would bear repeating once.

Gower Woodseer says the creature grows and studies to perfect herself.