Bessie (_Lifts her head_). That you are supposed never to tell a lie.

Harry. Never, eh? You wouldn't be that hard on a chap.

Bessie (_Recklessly_). Never to a woman, I mean.

Harry. Well, no. (_Serious_.) Never anything that matters. (_Aside_.) I
don't seem to get any nearer to my railway fare. (_Leans wearily against
the lamppost with a far-off look. B. looks at him_.)

Bessie. Now what are _you_ thinking of?

Harry (_Turns his head; stares at B_.). Well, I was thinking what a fine
figure of a girl you are.

Bessie (_Looks away a moment_). Is that true, or is it only one of them
that don't matter?

Harry (_Laughing a little_). No! no! That's true. Haven't you ever been
told that before? The men...

Bessie. I hardly speak to a soul from year's end to year's end. Father's
blind. He don't like strangers, and he can't bear to think of me out of
his call. Nobody comes near us much.

Harry (_Absent-minded_). Blind--ah! of course.

Bessie. For years and years . . .

Harry (_Commiserating_). For years and years. In one of them hutches.
You are a good daughter. (_Brightening up_.) A fine girl altogether. You
seem the sort that makes a good chum to a man in a fix. And there's not
a man in this whole town who found you out? I can hardly credit it, Miss
Bessie. (_B. shakes her head_.) Man I said! (_Contemptuous_.) A lot of
tame rabbits in hutches I call them.... (_Breaks off_.) I say, when's
the last train up to London? Can you tell me?

Bessie (_Gazes at him steadily_). What for? You've no money.

Harry. That's just it. (_Leans back against post again_.) Hard luck.
(_Insinuating_.) But there was never a time in all my travels that a
woman of the right sort did not turn up to help me out of a fix. I don't
know why. It's perhaps because they know without telling that I love
them all. (_Playful_.) I've almost fallen in love with you, Miss Bessie.

Bessie (_Unsteady laugh_). Why! How you talk! You haven't even seen my
face properly. (_One step towards H., as if compelled._)

Harry (_Bending forward gallantly_). A little pale. It suits some.
(_Puts out his hand, catches hold of B.'s arm. Draws her to him_.) Let's
see.... Yes, it suits you. (_It's a moment before B. puts up her hands,
palms out, and turns away her head_.)

Bessie (_Whispering_). Don't. (_Struggles a little. Released, stands
averted_.)

Harry. No offence. (_Stands, back to audience, looking at H.'s
cottage_.)

Bessie (_Alone in front; faces audie