CLARA. “Oh, dear” means very bad. Debts. (With assumed bewilderment.) Awful!
ALLEN. (Smiling.) What sort of debts?
CLARA. Oh, all sorts—tradespeople, you know, and all that, and then I thought I could win a little by betting—(Allen rises)—and put it all right—and I’ve been and lost. Oh dear!
ALLEN. (Vexed, goes c.) I should ha’ thought there wur enough fools among us men trying to win money that way.
CLARA. I am naughty, I know—but papa leaves everything to me, and I get so frightened when I see the debts mounting up and nothing to meet them, and I’ve no one to advise me. (Crosses l.)
ALLEN. (After a pause, rises, goes to Clara—kindly.) I didn’t mean to speak unkind, lass. I’m full of old-fashioned notions about women, I suppose. I like ’em to be women—not mere men in petticoats. How much does thee owe?
CLARA. Oh, heaps! (Handing him pocket-book.) Look. (Allen crosses to R. and sits at table.) And I haven’t any money. (Rising and looking over his shoulder R., as he examines the book.) Do you think they’ll put me in prison?
ALLEN. (Turns—laughing.) Thee ought to be taken in charge by somebody, that’s certain. (Allen rises, puts some notes from his pocket-book into hers, and hands it back to her.) I owe your father a little over one or two bets. I can take it off that and give him the rest, like. (Crosses to l.)
CLARA. (Takes book and lays it on the table—the notes drop out on to the table.) You are good, Allen, really. (Puts book on table R.—half to herself.) I wish sometimes that you weren’t—that you were more like other men I have met. (Turning away r.)
ALLEN. Why, would thee like me better?