[May looks fixedly into Jane’s face.
George. I count ’tis very nigh starved by the cold as she be.
Steve. Looks like it, and wetted through to the bone.
Jane. Put her out and shut the door, George, and that’ll learn the likes of she to come round begging at folks’ houses what’s respectable.
George. ’Tis poor work shutting the door on such as her this night.
Steve. And that ’tis, George, and what’s more, I bain’t a-going for to do it. ’Tis but a few hours to my wedding, and if a dog was to come to me for shelter I’d not be one to put him from the door.
Jane. ’Tain’t to be expected as I shall let a dirty tramp bide in my kitchen when ’tis all cleaned up against to-morrow, Steve.
Steve. To-morrow, ’tis my day, Mother, and I’ll have the choosing of my guests, like. [Turning to May.] Come you in out of the cold. This night you shall bide fed and warmed, so that, may be, in years to come, ’twill please you to think back upon the eve afore my wedding.
[Steve stands back, holding the door wide open. May, from the threshold, has been looking first on one face and then on another. Suddenly her eyes fall on Annie, who has moved to Steve’s side, laying her hand on his arm, and with a sudden defiance, she draws herself up and comes boldly into the room as the curtain falls.