Mrs. Megan. [Touching her basket.] Same as me.  Other jobs tires ’im.

Wellwyn.  That’s very nice! [He checks himself.] Well, what am I to do with you?

Mrs. Megan.  Of course, I could get me night’s lodging if I like to do—­the same as some of them.

Wellwyn.  No! no!  Never, my child!  Never!

Mrs. Megan.  It’s easy that way.

Wellwyn.  Heavens!  But your husband!  Um?

Mrs. Megan. [With stoical vindictiveness.] He’s after one I know of.

Wellwyn.  Tt!  What a pickle!

Mrs. Megan.  I’ll ’ave to walk about the streets.

Wellwyn. [To himself.] Now how can I?

     [Mrs. Megan looks up and smiles at him, as if she had already
     discovered that he is peculiar.]

Wellwyn.  You see, the fact is, I mustn’t give you anything—­because —­well, for one thing I haven’t got it.  There are other reasons, but that’s the—­real one.  But, now, there’s a little room where my models dress.  I wonder if you could sleep there.  Come, and see.

     [The Girl gets up lingeringly, loth to leave the warmth.  She
     takes up her wet stockings.]

Mrs. Megan.  Shall I put them on again?

Wellwyn.  No, no; there’s a nice warm pair of slippers. [Seeing the steam rising from her.] Why, you’re wet all over.  Here, wait a little!

[He crosses to the door into the house, and after stealthy listening, steps through.  The Girl, like a cat, steals back to the warmth of the fire.  Wellwyn returns with a candle, a canary-coloured bath gown, and two blankets.]

Wellwyn.  Now then! [He precedes her towards the door of the model’s room.] Hsssh! [He opens the door and holds up the candle to show her the room.] Will it do?  There’s a couch.  You’ll find some washing things.  Make yourself quite at home.  See!

     [The Girl, perfectly dumb, passes through with her basket—­and
     her shoes and stockings.  Wellwyn hands her the candle,
     blankets, and bath gown.]

Wellwyn.  Have a good sleep, child!  Forget that you’re alive! [He closes the door, mournfully.] Done it again! [He goes to the table, cuts a large slice of cake, knocks on the door, and hands it in.] Chow-chow! [Then, as he walks away, he sights the opposite door.] Well—­damn it, what could I have done?  Not a farthing on me! [He goes to the street door to shut it, but first opens it wide to confirm himself in his hospitality.] Night like this!