Horace. Gold—there’s none in circulation. Do you know what she is? A vile wanton, a plague of the streets!
Messenger. No more! Dare man so speak of women? Oh, are you not Joint Guardians of the Future? Give, Horace, give.
(Horace gives a pound note. She looks at it and becomes half hysterical.)
Outcast. It’s a pound, sir—a pound note. Did you mean it?
Horace. I had to give you something.
Outcast. Bless your good heart! It’ll pay the rent, sir. We won’t have to turn out. You don’t know what a lift it is, sir. Thank you, thank you, sir. Good night, sir. Good night, sir. Oh, bless you! (Exit R.)
Messenger. Is it not blessed to give?
Horace. I dare say you find it quite funny. It must be blessed to give away other people’s money. It was you gave it, mind, not I.
Messenger. Then you cannot expect any blessing from it.