TED MORRIS.
I know. That's——
NELLY MORRIS.
(Checking him.) And of myself. (A pause.) I'm tired of this life, Ted. I'm tired of living in an attic. I'm tired of being ashamed to go out into the streets until it's dark because of my clothes. I'm tired of feeling hungry. It's such a vulgar feeling. We have no one to help us. You talk about aunt. You know that man has all her money, and he's not likely to let us have any of it—even if we cared to take it. As for Jack—poor boy—what could he give me? What could I bring him but the same weary sordid struggle? (She puts her arms about him.) Don't be shocked at me, old boy. I used to have plenty of sentiment, as you know, but somehow it doesn't thrive on ten shillings a week. (She moves away a few steps. Then pausings turns to him, stretching out her arms to him.) Are you very angry with me, Ted?
TED MORRIS.
(He does not turn to her, but goes to the window and stands looking out)
No, dear. Only a little disappointed.
(Nelly stands thus for a moment, then takes the empty glasses from the table and crosses with them towards the cupboard.)
Curtain.