WILLIE. Ada does.
MAGGIE. And that gives me the weight of her. She's born to meekness, Ada is. You wed her, and you'll be an eighteen shilling a week bootmaker all the days of your life. You'll be a slave, and a contented slave.
WILLIE. I'm not ambitious that I know of.
MAGGIE. No. But you're going to be. I'll see to that. I've got my work cut out, but there's the makings of a man about you.
WILLIE. I wish you'd leave me alone. (Sits R.)
MAGGIE. So does the fly when the spider catches him. You're my man, Willie Mossop. (Moves to desk.)
WILLIE. Aye, so you say. Ada would tell another story, though.
(ADA FIGGINS enters from street. She is not ridiculous, but a weak, poor-blooded, poor-spirited girl of twenty, in clogs and shawl, with WILLIE'S dinner in a basin carried in a blue handkerchief. She crosses to him and gives him the basin.)
ADA (C.). There's your dinner, Will.
WILLIE. Thank you, Ada. (Rises.)