ROBERTS. [Averting his eyes.] Who talks of dying? No one will die till we have beaten these——
[He meets her eyes again, and again turns his away. Excitedly.]
This is what I've been waiting for all these months. To get the old robbers down, and send them home again without a farthin's worth o' change. I 've seen their faces, I tell you, in the valley of the shadow of defeat.
[He goes to the peg and takes down his hat.]
MRS. ROBERTS. [Following with her eyes-softly.] Take your overcoat,
David; it must be bitter cold.
ROBERTS. [Coming up to her-his eyes are furtive.] No, no! There, there, stay quiet and warm. I won't be long, my girl.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With soft bitterness.] You'd better take it.
[She lifts the coat. But ROBERTS puts it back, and wraps it round her. He tries to meet her eyes, but cannot. MRS. ROBERTS stays huddled in the coat, her eyes, that follow him about, are half malicious, half yearning. He looks at his watch again, and turns to go. In the doorway he meets JAN THOMAS, a boy of ten in clothes too big for him, carrying a penny whistle.]
ROBERTS. Hallo, boy!
[He goes. JAN stops within a yard of MRS. ROBERTS, and stares at her without a word.]