By the light of the lamp
there can be seen a young girl in dark clothes, huddled in a
shawl to which the snow is clinging. She has on her arm a
basket covered with a bit of sacking.]
WELLWYN. I can't, you know; it's impossible.
[The girl says nothing, but looks at him with dark eyes.]
WELLWYN. [Wincing.] Let's see--I don't know you--do I?
[The girl, speaking in a soft, hoarse voice, with a faint accent
of reproach: "Mrs. Megan--you give me this---" She holds out a
dirty visiting card.]
WELLWYN. [Recoiling from the card.] Oh! Did I? Ah! When?
MRS. MEGAN. You 'ad some vi'lets off of me larst spring. You give
me 'arf a crown.
[A smile tries to visit her face.]
WELLWYN. [Looking stealthily round.] Ah! Well, come in--just for a
minute--it's very cold--and tell us what it is.
[She comes in stolidly, a Sphinx-like figure, with her pretty
tragic little face.]
WELLWYN. I don't remember you. [Looking closer.] Yes, I do. Only--
you weren't the same-were you?
MRS. MEGAN. [Dully.] I seen trouble since.
WELLWYN. Trouble! Have some tea?
[He looks anxiously at the door into the house, then goes
quickly to the table, and pours out a glass of tea, putting rum
into it.]
WELLWYN. [Handing her the tea.] Keeps the cold out! Drink it off!
[MRS. MEGAN drinks it of, chokes a little, and almost
immediately seems to get a size larger.
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