ROBERTS. [With polite malice.] If I might advise ye, Ma'am—make it for the sake of your husband and your father.
[ENID, suppressing a retort, goes out. UNDERWOOD opens the door for her and follows. ROBERTS, going to the fire, holds out his hands to the dying glow.]
ROBERTS. How goes it, my girl? Feeling better, are you?
[MRS. ROBERTS smiles faintly. He brings his overcoat and wraps it round her.]
[Looking at his watch.] Ten minutes to four! [As though inspired.] I've seen their faces, there's no fight in them, except for that one old robber.
MRS. ROBERTS. Won't you stop and eat, David? You've 'ad nothing all day!
ROBERTS. [Putting his hand to his throat.] Can't swallow till those old sharks are out o' the town: [He walks up and down.] I shall have a bother with the men—there's no heart in them, the cowards. Blind as bats, they are—can't see a day before their noses.
MRS. ROBERTS. It's the women, David.
ROBERTS. Ah! So they say! They can remember the women when their own bellies speak! The women never stop them from the drink; but from a little suffering to themselves in a sacred cause, the women stop them fast enough.
MRS. ROBERTS. But think o' the children, David.