MARY [relenting]. Of course, if—if you're sorry, that makes a difference. Being sorry makes a lot of difference. Doesn't it?
ROBERT. Yus, a fat lot!
MARY. Only you must never give way to such a wicked temptation again. Oh, don't cry! [She goes to him.]
ROBERT. Oo is cryin'? I'm not cryin'—not a cryin' sort!
On'y—you 'adn't no right to talk to me like that, miss.
MARY. Why, didn't you own . . .
ROBERT. No, I didn't. It was you as jumped down my throat, an' took up my words afore I got 'em out.
MARY. Oh: I'm sorry. Did I make a mistake?
ROBERT. Yus, miss—a whopper.
MARY. Then you're not a . . .
ROBERT. No, swelp me Gaw— [He pulls himself up.] I assure you, no. I'm a bit of a low un; but I never come so stinkin' low as that.