Jawbones. Because, in spite of all, I love yer.
Ginger. (She looks into the future.) What will I be? A general servant, without wages.
Jawbones. The question, as it seems to me, is, which of us two is the biggest fool? Instead of thirty bob a week in my pocket to spend as I like—guess I’ll ’ave to be content with three ’alf-crowns.
Ginger. Seven an’ six! Rather a lot, Bill, out o’ thirty bob. Don’t leave much for me an’ the children.
Jawbones. I shall ’ave to get my dinners.
Ginger. I could mike yer somethin’ tasty to tike with yer. Then with, say—three shillings—
Jawbones. ’Ere—(He is on the point of snatching back the ring. He encounters her eyes. There is a moment’s battle. The Eternal Feminine conquers.) Will yer always look as sweet as yer do now?
Ginger. Always, Bill. So long as yer good to me!
(She slips the ring over her finger, still with her eyes drawing him. He catches her to him in fierce passion, kisses her.)
(A loud shrill female cheer comes from the crowd. The cheer is renewed and renewed.)