Oh, Mr. David!
DAVID
And now all this long, cold, snowy evening she'll sit by the fire alone, thinking of her dead, and the fire will sink lower and lower, and she won't be able to touch it, because it's the holy Sabbath, and there'll be no kind Kathleen to brighten up the grey ashes, and then at last, sad and shivering, she'll creep up to her room without a candlestick, and there in the dark and the cold——
KATHLEEN [Hysterically bursting into tears, dropping her parcel, and untying her bonnet-strings]
Oh, Mr. David, I won't mix the crockery, I won't——
DAVID [Heartily]
Of course you won't. Good night.
[He slips out hurriedly through the street-door as Kathleen throws off her bonnet, and the curtain falls quickly. As it rises again, she is seen strenuously poking the fire, illumined by its red glow.]