Mrs. Madden [puzzled. Without looking up]. W'at y' talkin' 'bout?
Madden [pathetically]. I guess I ought not to ask you to forgive me.
Mrs. Madden [looking up]. F'give y'? [Remembering.] Oh, yes—y' did call me some darn hard names.
Madden. I know. [Slowly. Looking into her face.] D' you think you could forgive me?
Mrs. Madden [lazily]. Sure. I guess so. Glad t' see y' got over yer pet.
[He smiles a pathetic, eager smile, and takes her left hand, which is lying in her lap. With an impatient movement, she stretches her left arm out and back, carrying his left hand with it and forcing him off the arm of the chair.]
Mrs. Madden. Say, Jim—look w'at's on th' table.
[Madden sighs softly and takes a few steps toward the table. He sees the candy box; a darker shadow appears on his face for a second or two, and is gone.]
Mrs. Madden. Have a chocklick, Jim.
[She herself picks one up from the arm of the chair; then she looks down again at her book, eating the candy as she reads.]