LUCAS. She was actually in want of food in those days! Poor girl! [Partly to himself.] I mean to remind myself of that constantly. Poor girl!
ST. OLPHERTS. Girl! Let me see—you're considerably her junior?
LUCAS. No, no; a few months, perhaps.
ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, come!
LUCAS. Well, years—two or three.
ST. OLPHERTS. The voice remains rather raucous.
LUCAS. By God, the voice is sweet!
ST. OLPHERTS. Well—considering the wear and tear. Really, my dear fellow, I do believe this—I do believe that if you gowned her respectably—
LUCAS. [Impulsively.] Yes, yes, I say so. I tell her that.
ST. OLPHERTS. [With a smile.] Do you? That's odd, now.