Wellwyn. [Applying the decanter to her dips.] Poor little thing!  I’ll try this hot tea.

Ferrand. [Whispering.] ‘La mort—­le grand ami!’

Wellwyn.  Look!  Look at her!  She’s coming round!

     [A faint tremor passes over Mrs. MEGAN’s body.  He again
     applies the hot drink to her mouth.  She stirs and gulps.]

Constable. [With intense relief.] That’s brave!  Good lass! 
She’ll pick up now, sir.

     [Then, seeing that Timson and the curious persons have again
     opened the door, he drives them out, and stands with his back
     against it.  Mrs. Megan comes to herself.]

Wellwyn. [Sitting on the dais and supporting her—­as if to a child.] There you are, my dear.  There, there—­better now!  That’s right.  Drink a little more of this tea.

     [Mrs. Megan drinks from the decanter.]

Ferrand. [Rising.] Bring her to the fire, Monsieur.

[They take her to the fire and seat her on the little stool.  From the moment of her restored animation Ferrand has resumed his air of cynical detachment, and now stands apart with arms folded, watching.]

Wellwyn.  Feeling better, my child?

Mrs. Megan.  Yes.

Wellwyn.  That’s good.  That’s good.  Now, how was it?  Um?

Mrs. Megan.  I dunno. [She shivers.] I was standin’ here just now when you was talkin’, and when I heard ‘im, it cam’ over me to do it—­like.

Wellwyn.  Ah, yes I know.

Mrs. Megan.  I didn’t seem no good to meself nor any one.  But when I got in the water, I didn’t want to any more.  It was cold in there.

Wellwyn.  Have you been having such a bad time of it?

Mrs. Megan.  Yes.  And listenin’ to him upset me. [She signs with her head at Ferrand.] I feel better now I’ve been in the water. [She smiles and shivers.]

Wellwyn.  There, there!  Shivery?  Like to walk up and down a little?

     [They begin walking together up and down.]

Wellwyn.  Beastly when your head goes under?

Mrs. Megan.  Yes.  It frightened me.  I thought I wouldn’t come up again.

Wellwyn.  I know—­sort of world without end, wasn’t it?  What did you think of, um?

Mrs. Megan.  I wished I ‘adn’t jumped—­an’ I thought of my baby—­ that died—­and—­[in a rather surprised voice] and I thought of d-dancin’.

     [Her mouth quivers, her face puckers, she gives a choke and a
     little sob.]

Wellwyn. [Stopping and stroking her.] There, there—­there!

     [For a moment her face is buried in his sleeve, then she
     recovers herself.]