(_From here this scene goes on mainly near and about the street lamp_.)
Bessie (_Rousing herself_). What are you? A sailor?
Harry. Anything you like. (_Proudly_.) Sailor enough to be worth my salt
on board any craft that swims the seas.
Bessie. He will never, never believe it. He mustn't be contradicted.
Harry. Always liked to have his own way. And you've been encouraging
him.
Bessie (_Earnestly_). No!--not in everything--not really!
Harry (_Vexed laugh_). What about that pretty tomorrow notion? I've a
hungry chum in London--waiting for me.
Bessie (_Defending herself_). Why should I make the poor old friendless
man miserable? I thought you were far away. I thought you were dead. I
didn't know but you had never been born. I... I... (_Harry turns to her.
She desperately_.) It was easier to believe it myself. (_Carried away_.)
And after all it's true. It's come to pass. This is the to-morrow we've
been waiting for.
Harry (_Half perfunctorily_). Aye. Anybody can see that your heart is as
soft as your voice.
Bessie (_As if unable to keep back the words_). I didn't think you would
have noticed my voice.
Harry (_Already inattentive_). H'm. Dashed scrape. This is a
queer to-morrow, without any sort of today, as far as I can see.
(_Resolutely_.) I must try the door.
Bessie. Well--try, then.
Harry (_From gate looking over shoulder at Bessie_).
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