JOE. It's well for you you're prosperous with your loom at home and your women at home and your daughter dressed like——
(Enter Ruth Butterworth by the front door. She is twenty-one, dark, passionate, tall, in a plain, narrow-skirted, short-sleeved gown of woolsey, with a bright-coloured cotton handkerchief crossed over the bust and tied at the back of the short waist, dress low at the neck, straw bonnet and boots.)—like she is. (Preparing to go.) I'm grieved we've failed to move you, but you're better off than us, and it's the skill of your hands you have to thank for it. Machinery has played the very hangment with the rest of us. Good-night, Matt.
MATTHEW. Good-night, Joe Healey. (They shake. Matthew looks contemptuously at Henri.) Take your Republican with you. I've a word in season to say to young Martin Kelsall.
(Exeunt Joe and Henri. Ruth stands by settle.)
Now, my lad, you came here to see me a week ago.
MARTIN (looking guiltily at Ruth, who shows surprise). Yes, Mr. Butterworth.
MATTHEW. You said nowt about being a Radical then. Martin. I came on other business.
MATTHEW. And you said nowt about starving bellies. If you can't make brass enough to fill one belly, you'll be hard put to it to fill two.
RUTH. That's all over, father.
MATTHEW. Is it? Did he speak to you?