canary birds!

[MRS. MEGAN would withdraw her hand, but cannot.]

FERRAND. Pay no attention, Ma'moiselle. He is a Puritan.

[TIMSON relapses into comatosity, upsetting his glass, which
falls with a crash.]

MRS. MEGAN. Let go my hand, please!

FERRAND. [Relinquishing it, and staring into the fore gravely.]
There is one thing I have never done--'urt a woman--that is hardly in
my character. [Then, drawing a little closer, he looks into her
face.] Tell me, Ma'moiselle, what is it you think of all day long?

MRS. MEGAN. I dunno--lots, I thinks of.

FERRAND. Shall I tell you? [Her eyes remain fixed on his, the
strangeness of him preventing her from telling him to "get along."
He goes on in his ironic voice.] It is of the streets--the lights--
the faces--it is of all which moves, and is warm--it is of colour--it
is [he brings his face quite close to hers] of Love. That is for you
what the road is for me. That is for you what the rum is for that
old--[He jerks his thumb back at TIMSON. Then bending swiftly
forward to the girl.] See! I kiss you--Ah!

[He draws her forward off the stool. There is a little
struggle, then she resigns her lips. The little stool,
overturned, falls with a clatter. They spring up, and move
apart. The door opens and ANN enters from the house in a blue
dressing-gown, with her hair loose, and a candle held high above
her head. Taking in the strange half-circle round the stove,
she recoils. Then, standing her ground, calls in a voice
sharpened by fright: "Daddy--Daddy!"]

TIMSON. [Stirring uneasily, and struggling to his feet.] All right!
I'm comin'!

FERRAND. Have no fear, Madame!

[In the silence that follows, a clock begins loudly striking
twelve. ANN remains, as if carved in atone, her eyes fastened
on the strangers. There is the sound of someone falling
downstairs, and WELLWYN appears, also holding a candle above his
head.]

ANN. Look!

WELLWYN. Yes, yes, my dear! It--it happened.

ANN. [With a sort of groan.] Oh! Daddy!

[In the renewed silence, the church clock ceases to chime.]

FERRAND. [Softly, in his ironic voice.] HE is come, Monsieur! 'Appy
Christmas! Bon Noel!

[There is a sudden chime of bells. The Stage is blotted dark.]

Curtain.

ACT II

It is four o'clock in the afternoon of New Year's Day. On the r