Daniel (mournfully). Well! Well! To think of me toiling and moiling away in that workshop of mine, day after day, and week after week, and year after year—and there's all the thanks you get for it.
Mary. Uncle?
Daniel (somewhat irritably as he gets engrossed reading). Well?
Mary. Look, if you went up to Belfast again soon, won't you see that boy? I wonder what he's like. (She gets close beside her uncle and nestles beside him.) Is he dark or fair?
Daniel. Yes, yes. I think so.
Mary. Dark?
Daniel. Yes. I believe he is dark.
Mary. And tall?
Daniel (trying vainly to read in spite of the interruptions). Very tall.