WELLWYN opens the street door. The
lamp outside has just been lighted, and, by its gleam, is seen
the figure of RORY MEGAN, thin, pale, youthful. ANN turning at
the door into the house gives him a long, inquisitive look,
then goes.]
WELLWYN. Is that Megan?
MEGAN. Yus.
WELLWYN. Come in.
[MEGAN comes in. There follows an awkward silence, during
which WELLWYN turns up the light, then goes to the tea table
and pours out a glass of tea and rum.]
BERTLEY. [Kindly.] Now, my boy, how is it that you and your wife
are living apart like this?
MEGAN. I dunno.
BERTLEY. Well, if you don't, none of us are very likely to, are we?
MEGAN. That's what I thought, as I was comin' along.
WELLWYN. [Twinkling.] Have some tea, Megan? [Handing him the
glass.] What d'you think of her picture? 'Tisn't quite finished.
MEGAN. [After scrutiny.] I seen her look like it--once.
WELLWYN. Good! When was that?
MEGAN. [Stoically.] When she 'ad the measles.
[He drinks.]
WELLWYN. [Ruminating.] I see--yes. I quite see feverish!
BERTLEY. My dear WELLWYN, let me--[To, MEGAN.
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