NELI. [Disappearing through door back centre.] Not a word! Your mind has gone quite on the downfall—lockin' doors against your own bread and butter an' soap.
HUGH. [Unlocking door sullenly.] But, Neli, salvation an' soap....
NELI. [Snappily.] Salvation an' soap are as thick as thieves.
HUGH. But, Neli, a man is his own master.
NELI. Yiss, I see he is!
[Neli goes out, slamming door noisily.
HUGH. Dear anwyl, she seems angry!
[Hugh opens street door left just as Neli goes out through kitchen, by door back centre. Deacon Roberts enters the door Hugh has unlocked. He looks at Hugh, smiles, and goes over to counter in a businesslike way. He is a stout man, dressed in a black broadcloth cutaway coat, tight trousers, a drab vest, high collar and stock, woollen gloves, a muffler wound about his neck and face, and a tall Welsh beaver hat. Under his arm he carries a book.
DEACON ROBERTS. [Speaking affectionately, pulling off his gloves, putting down book on counter, and beginning eagerly to touch the various groceries.] Essays on Babylon to-day, Hughie lad?
HUGH. [Looking about for Neli and speaking fretfully.] Nay.