] It's not like my picture
that I had on the pier.
WELLWYN. No-it wouldn't be.
MRS. MEGAN. [Timidly.] If I had an 'at on, I'd look better.
WELLWYN. With feathers?
MRS. MEGAN. Yes.
WELLWYN. Well, you can't! I don't like hats, and I don't like
feathers.
[MRS. MEGAN timidly tugs his sleeve. TIMSON, screened as he
thinks by the picture, has drawn from his bulky pocket a bottle
and is taking a stealthy swig.]
WELLWYN. [To MRS. MEGAN, affecting not to notice.] How much do I owe
you?
MRS. MEGAN. [A little surprised.] You paid me for to-day-all 'cept
a penny.
WELLWYN. Well! Here it is. [He gives her a coin.] Go and get your
feet on!
MRS. MEGAN. You've give me 'arf a crown.
WELLWYN. Cut away now!
[MRS. MEGAN, smiling at the coin, goes towards the model's room.
She looks back at WELLWYN, as if to draw his eyes to her, but he
is gazing at the picture; then, catching old TIMSON'S sour
glance, she grimaces at him, kicking up her feet with a little
squeal. But when WELLWYN turns to the sound, she is demurely
passing through the doorway.]
TIMSON. [In his voice of dubious sobriety.] I've finished these yer
brushes, sir. It's not a man's work. I've been thinkin' if you'd
keep an 'orse, I could give yer satisfaction.
WELLWYN. Would the horse, Timson?
TIMSON. [Looking him up and down.] I knows of one that would just
suit yer. Reel 'orse, you'd like 'im.
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