Bessie (Gazes at him steadily). What for? You've no money.
Harry. That's just it. (Leans back against post again.) Hard luck. (Insinuating.) But there was never a time in all my travels that a woman of the right sort did not turn up to help me out of a fix. I don't know why. It's perhaps because they know without telling that I love them all. (Playful.) I've almost fallen in love with you, Miss Bessie.
Bessie (Unsteady laugh). Why! How you talk! You haven't even seen my face properly. (One step towards H., as if compelled.)
Harry (Bending forward gallantly). A little pale. It suits some. (Puts out his hand, catches hold of B.'s arm. Draws her to him.) Let's see.... Yes, it suits you. (It's a moment before B. puts up her hands, palms out, and turns away her head.)
Bessie (Whispering). Don't. (Struggles a little. Released, stands averted.)
Harry. No offence. (Stands, back to audience, looking at H.'s cottage.)
Bessie (Alone in front; faces audience; whispers). My voice—my figure—my heart—my face....
(A silence. B. 's face gradually lights up. Directly H. speaks, expression of hopeful attention.)
Harry (From railings). The old man seems to have gone to sleep waiting for that to-morrow of his.
Bessie. Come away. He sleeps very little.