Wellwyn.  I suppose they see I like them—­then they tell me things. 
After that, of course you can’t help doing what you can.

Ann.  Well, if you will love them up!

Wellwyn.  My dear, I don’t want to.  It isn’t them especially—­why, I feel it even with old Calway sometimes.  It’s only Providence that he doesn’t want anything of me—­except to make me like himself—­confound him!

Ann. [Moving towards the door into the house—­impressively.] What you don’t see is that other people aren’t a bit like you.

Wellwyn.  Well, thank God!

Ann.  It’s so old-fashioned too!  I’m going to bed—­I just leave you to your conscience.

Wellwyn.  Oh!

Ann. [Opening the door-severely.] Good-night—­[with a certain weakening] you old—­Daddy!

     [She jumps at him, gives him a hug, and goes out.]

     [Wellwyn stands perfectly still.  He first gazes up at the
     skylight, then down at the floor.  Slowly he begins to shake his
     head, and mutter, as he moves towards the fire.]

Wellwyn.  Bad lot. . . .  Low type—­no backbone, no stability!

[There comes a fluttering knock on the outer door.  As the sound slowly enters his consciousness, he begins to wince, as though he knew, but would not admit its significance.  Then he sits down, covering his ears.  The knocking does not cease.  Wellwyn drops first one, then both hands, rises, and begins to sidle towards the door.  The knocking becomes louder.]

Wellwyn.  Ah dear!  Tt!  Tt!  Tt!

[After a look in the direction of ANN’s disappearance, he opens the street door a very little way.  By the light of the lamp there can be seen a young girl in dark clothes, huddled in a shawl to which the snow is clinging.  She has on her arm a basket covered with a bit of sacking.]

Wellwyn.  I can’t, you know; it’s impossible.

     [The girl says nothing, but looks at him with dark eyes.]

Wellwyn. [Wincing.] Let’s see—­I don’t know you—­do I?

     [The girl, speaking in a soft, hoarse voice, with a faint accent
     of reproach:  “Mrs. Megan—­you give me this—–­” She holds out a
     dirty visiting card.]

Wellwyn. [Recoiling from the card.] Oh!  Did I?  Ah!  When?

Mrs. Megan.  You ’ad some vi’lets off of me larst spring.  You give me ’arf a crown.

     [A smile tries to visit her face.]

Wellwyn. [Looking stealthily round.] Ah!  Well, come in—­just for a minute—­it’s very cold—­and tell us what it is.

     [She comes in stolidly, a Sphinx-like figure, with her pretty
     tragic little face.]

Wellwyn.  I don’t remember you. [Looking closer.] Yes, I do.  Only—­ you weren’t the same-were you?