ALLEN. (Tenderly patting her.) All right, mother, all right. Us’ll keep it on.
MRS. R. (Wiping her eyes.) And thee might want to come back to it theeself some day, lad.
ALLEN. (Laughing.) Why, thee don’t think I’m going to run through two hundred thousand, do ye, mother? We Devonshire lads win fortunes, not lose ‘em. (Crossing c.)
MRS. R. Ah, no, lad. But thee knows the saying “Roses blossom for a day, But stout old ivy’s green al-way.” Thee ain’t likely to lose the money, if thee can help it, lad, but us all be in God’s hands, and I’ll be easier in my mind if the farm’s there for thee to come home to. If anything happens, thee knows the way across the Moor, and thee knows how the latch goes, and me and the lass will be inside to welcome thee.
ALLEN. (Goes l. takes Deb.‘s hand.) Ah, I know you will, mother, both of you.
MRS. R. (Music—piano.) Leastways I shall—and the lass until her gets married, I suppose. (Deb. goes up a little; gets r.)
ALLEN. (Surprised.) Until her gets married? (Deb. goes to Mrs. R. r.; tries to stop her speaking.)
MRS. R. (Sharply.) Ah, the lads ain’t all fools.
ALLEN. (Evidently troubled.) I never seemed to think o’ Deb’s getting married, somehow.
MRS. R. Well, other folks have.