hink I've got feelings.

COOK. [Regarding her moody, pretty face] Why! We all have feelin's!

FAITH. Not below three hundred a year.

COOK. [Scandalised] Dear, dear! Where were you educated?

FAITH. I wasn't.

COOK. Tt! Well--it's wonderful what a change there is in girls since my
young days [Pulling out a drawer] Here's the napkins. You change the
master's every day at least because of his moustache and the others every
two days, but always clean ones Sundays. Did you keep Sundays in there?

FAITH. [Smiling] Yes. Longer chapel.

COOK. It'll be a nice change for you, here. They don't go to Church;
they're agnosticals. [Patting her shoulder] How old are you?

FAITH. Twenty.

COOK. Think of that--and such a life! Now, dearie, I'm your friend.
Let the present bury the past--as the sayin' is. Forget all about
yourself, and you'll be a different girl in no time.

FAITH. Do you want to be a different woman?

COOK is taken flat aback by so sudden a revelation of the pharisaism
of which she has not been conscious.

COOK. Well! You are sharp! [Opening another dresser drawer] Here's
the vinegar! And here's the sweets, and [rather anxiously] you mustn't
eat them.

FAITH. I wasn't in for theft.

COOK. [Shocked at such rudimentary exposure of her natural misgivings]
No, no! But girls have appetites.

FAITH. They didn't get much chance where I've been.

COOK. Ah! You must tell me all about it. Did you have adventures?

FAITH. There isn't such a thing in a prison.

COOK. You don't say! Why, in the books they're escapin' all the time.
But books is books; I've always said so. How were the men?

FAITH. Never saw a man--only a chaplain.

COOK. Dear, dear! They must be quite fresh to you, then! How long was
it?

FAITH. Two years.

COOK. And never a day out? What did you do all the time? Did they
learn you anything?

FAITH. Weaving. That's why I hate it.

COOK. Tell me about your poor little baby. I'm sure you meant it for
the best.

FAITH. [Sardonically] Yes; I was afraid they'd make it a ward in
Chancery.

COOK. Oh! dear--what things do come into your head! Why! No one can
take a baby from its mother.

FAITH. Except the Law.

COOK. Tt! Tt! Well! Here's the pickled onions. Miss Mary loves 'em!
Now then, let me see you lay the cloth.

She takes a tablecloth out, hands it to FAITH, and while the girl
begins to unfold the