As soon as I've got you away from here,
and all--these----
WELLWYN. Don't rub it in, Ann!
ANN. [Giving him a sudden hug--then going to the door--with a sort
of triumph.] Deeds, not words, Daddy!
[She goes out, and the wind catching her scarf blows it out
beneath her firm young chin. WELLWYN returning to the fire,
stands brooding, and gazing at his extinct cigarette.]
WELLWYN. [To himself.] Bad lot--low type! No method! No theory!
[In the open doorway appear FERRAND and MRS. MEGAN. They
stand, unseen, looking at him. FERRAND is more ragged, if
possible, than on Christmas Eve. His chin and cheeks are
clothed in a reddish golden beard. MRS. MEGAN's dress is not
so woe-begone, but her face is white, her eyes dark-circled.
They whisper. She slips back into the shadow of the doorway.
WELLWYN turns at the sound, and stares at FERRAND in
amazement.]
FERRAND. [Advancing.] Enchanted to see you, Monsieur. [He looks
round the empty room.] You are leaving?
WELLWYN. [Nodding--then taking the young man's hand.] How goes it?
FERRAND.
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