Enid.  I ’m not afraid of you.

Roberts. [Bowing.] I would not expect the daughter of Mr. Anthony to be afraid.  Mr. Anthony is not a coward like the rest of them.

Enid. [Suddenly.] I suppose you think it brave, then, to go on with the struggle.

Roberts.  Does Mr. Anthony think it brave to fight against women and children?  Mr. Anthony is a rich man, I believe; does he think it brave to fight against those who have n’t a penny?  Does he think it brave to set children crying with hunger, an’ women shivering with cold?

Enid. [Putting up her hand, as though warding off a blow.] My father is acting on his principles, and you know it!

Roberts.  And so am I!

Enid.  You hate us; and you can’t bear to be beaten!

Roberts.  Neither can Mr. Anthony, for all that he may say.

Enid.  At any rate you might have pity on your wife.

     [Mrs. Roberts who has her hand pressed to her heart, takes it
     away, and tries to calm her breathing.]

Roberts.  Madam, I have no more to say.

     [He takes up the loaf.  There is a knock at the door, and
     Underwood comes in.  He stands looking at them, Enid turns to
     him, then seems undecided.]

Underwood.  Enid!

Roberts. [Ironically.] Ye were not needing to come for your wife,
Mr. Underwood.  We are not rowdies.

Underwood.  I know that, Roberts.  I hope Mrs. Roberts is better.

     [Roberts turns away without answering.  Come, Enid!]

Enid.  I make one more appeal to you, Mr. Roberts, for the sake of your wife.

Roberts. [With polite malice.] If I might advise ye, Ma’am—­make it for the sake of your husband and your father.

     [Enid, suppressing a retort, goes out.  Underwood opens the door
     for her and follows.  Roberts, going to the fire, holds out his
     hands to the dying glow.]

Roberts.  How goes it, my girl?  Feeling better, are you?

     [Mrs. Roberts smiles faintly.  He brings his overcoat and wraps
     it round her.]

[Looking at his watch.] Ten minutes to four! [As though inspired.] I’ve seen their faces, there’s no fight in them, except for that one old robber.

Mrs. Roberts.  Won’t you stop and eat, David?  You’ve ’ad nothing all day!

Roberts. [Putting his hand to his throat.] Can’t swallow till those old sharks are out o’ the town:  [He walks up and down.] I shall have a bother with the men—­there’s no heart in them, the cowards.  Blind as bats, they are—­can’t see a day before their noses.

Mrs. Roberts.  It’s the women, David.