That you are supposed never to tell a lie.
Harry. Never, eh? You wouldn't be that hard on a chap.
Bessie (_Recklessly_). Never to a woman, I mean.
Harry. Well, no. (_Serious_.) Never anything that matters. (_Aside_.) I
don't seem to get any nearer to my railway fare. (_Leans wearily against
the lamppost with a far-off look. B. looks at him_.)
Bessie. Now what are _you_ thinking of?
Harry (_Turns his head; stares at B_.). Well, I was thinking what a fine
figure of a girl you are.
Bessie (_Looks away a moment_). Is that true, or is it only one of them
that don't matter?
Harry (_Laughing a little_). No! no! That's true. Haven't you ever been
told that before? The men...
Bessie. I hardly speak to a soul from year's end to year's end. Father's
blind. He don't like strangers, and he can't bear to think of me out of
his call. Nobody comes near us much.
Harry (_Absent-minded_). Blind--ah! of course.
Bessie. For years and years . . .
Harry (_Commiserating_). For years and years. In one of them hutches.
You are a good daughter. (_Brightening up_.) A fine girl altogether. You
seem the sort that makes a good chum to a man in a fix. And there's not
a man in this whole town who found you out? I can hardly credit it, Miss
Bessie. (_B. shakes her head_.) Man I said! (_Contemptuous_.) A lot of
tame rabbits in hutches I call them.
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