ALLEN. Maybe, lass; but the sailors couldn’t help but follow when they did hear it. (Sits in chair l. of table R.)
DEB. (After a pause.) What be the matter, Allen? Thee used to be contented enough. Now thee’s always talking about riches, and wanting to go away from the dear old farm. Somethin’s come over thee, lad. (Puts hand on Allen’s shoulder.)
ALLEN. No, I wur allus like an old crow—(Deborah takes her hand away)—sitting on a fence, and looking at summat too far off to see. But thee be right partly, lass. Summat has come over me, and made me want what I can’t get more than ever now.
DEB. (Very kindly, r.) What be it? (With elbows leaning on table, R.)
ALLEN. (Rises, goes l. c.) Well, I be in love, lass. (Still looking away from her.)
DEB. (After a pause, during which she has smiled to herself with a happy little sigh, and clasped her hands together in a sort of little joyful ecstacy, unnoticed by Allen.) In love!
ALLEN. I fancy it must be that. I think of her all day and I dream of her all night, and I’m jolly miserable. (At settle, R.)
DEB. (Demurely.) Have you any reason to suppose that she returns your affection?
ALLEN. I don’t know, her’s never said anything.
DEB. Have you?