Polly. Hark to that now. Creditin' anything a feller tells yer when 'e's lurin' yer to 'is arms. (The whistle pipes l. Liza hears it and jerks up her head. Polly fails to notice it.) Eh, not that I blame yer so much, yer too young to know different. P'raps yer'd best go to yer bed, as yer father said, an' ave yer cry out. Yer'll be better in the mornin'.
Liza (with a quick look off l. in the direction of the whistling). All right, mother. (She reaches the door, losses her head defiantly and exit l. Polly gets some matches and is about to light the gas when Andrew opens the door c. and returns buckling on his belt. It is growing gradually darker. Polly puts the match box down unused.)
Polly. Well, 'ave yer trounced 'im?
Andrew. No. 'E dodged me some'ow an I 'eard is darned whistle goin' impudent afterward I reckon 'e wants to get 'er out, but I'll watch 'im at it.
Polly. Liza's gorn to bed to 'ave 'er cry out. She'll get over it by mornin'. Young 'uns don't take love bad. (Whistle sounds off l.)
Andrew (moving to door c.). Darn 'im for a piece of brassen impudence! If I don't break an' spoil 'is whistle for 'im, my name's not Andrew Bettesworth. I'll raise a lump on 'is thick 'ead big enough for 'im to 'ang 'is 'at on.
Polly (detaining him with her hand on his arm). I'm not so sure, Andrew. I've bin thinkin' as that's not right road o' dealin' with 'im.
Andrew. Right or wrong, 'e'll feel the weight of my belt with my arm behind it when I catch 'im.
Polly. I'll tell yer wot I'm thinkin. Yer leathered the fellers wot came after Martha an' Sally, but it didn't choke 'em orf. Made 'em all the keener. Made 'em think the girls was jewels, or yer'd not make so much fuss abart lettin' go of 'em. Let this feller think the girl's a wrong 'un an' 'e'll cool orf quick enough.
Andrew. Well, so they are jewels, an' Liza's the best of the bunch.