ROBERT. But s'pose, miss—s'pose 'e ain't . . .
MARY. He is! I know it! Why, that's what I'm wishing! . . .
ROBERT. P'r'aps it ain't altogether 'is fault, miss! . . .
MARY. Oh, don't! Don't. . .
ROBERT. Things may 'a' bin agin 'im, miss! . . .
MARY. Oh, you make me so unhappy! . . .
ROBERT. P'r'aps 'e's 'ad a 'ard life—a bitter 'ard life—same as
I 'av', miss . . . [He breaks down.]
MARY. Ssh! Please! Please! . . .
I can quite understand: indeed, indeed, I can! I'm sorry—oh, so sorry for you. You are thinking of yourself and of your own little girl—the little girl who doesn't know what you have been telling me. Don't be miserable! I'm sure it will all turn out right in the end—things always do; far better than you dream! Only . . . don't take away my little dream!
[She turns away her face. ROBERT rises heavily.]