Minnie (pleased).  You always were a josher!

George.  Tell me, Minnie, why did you run away from me two years ago?

Minnie.  Run away from you!  I left because I couldn’t stand this village any longer.  It was too quiet for me.

George.  You’re a josher!  You went off while I was away, without telling me you were going.  And then, when I found out where you were and hustled over to Newcastle in my car, you turned me down hard.

Minnie.  You didn’t have a mortgage on me.  There were plenty of girls of your own kind at that house party you went to.  I guess you made love to them, too.

George.  They weren’t in the same class with you.  You’ve got the ginger.

Minnie.  I’ve still got the ginger, all right.

George.  I thought you cared for me.

Minnie.  You always had the nerve, George.

George.  You acted as if you did.

Minnie.  I’m a good actor.  Say, what was there in it for me?—­packing tools in the Pindar shops, and you the son of my boss?  You didn’t want nothing from me except what all men want, and you wouldn’t have wanted that long.

George.  I was crazy about you.

Minnie (her eyes falling on the travelling pillow and the pincushion; picking theron:  up in turn).  I guess you told them that, too.

George (embarrassed).  Oh, I’m popular enough when I’m going away.  They don’t care anything about me.

Minnie (indicating the wristlets).  You don’t want them,—­I’ll give ’em to Bert.

George.  No, you won’t.

Minnie.  I was silly.  But we had a good time while it lasted,—­didn’t we, George?

   (She evades him deftly, and picks up the life-preserving suit.)

What’s this?—­a full dress uniform?

George.  When a submarine gets you, all you’ve got to do is to jump overboard and blow this—­

   (He draws the siren from the pocket and starts to blow it, but she
   seizes his hand.)

—­and float around until a destroyer picks you up.

   (Takes from another pocket a metal lunch box.)

This is for pate de foie gras sandwiches, and there’s room in here—­

   (Indicating another pocket.)

—­for a bottle of fizz.  Come along with me, Minnie, ship as a Red Cross nurse, and I’ll buy you one.  The Atlantic wouldn’t be such a bad place, with you,—­and we wouldn’t be in a hurry to blow the siren.  You’d look like a peach in a white costume, too.

Minnie.  Don’t you like me in this?

George.  Sure, but I’d like that better.

Minnie.  I’d make a good nurse, if I do say it myself.  And I’d take good care of you, George,—­as good as any of them.

   (She nods toward the pillow and pincushion.)