MRS. M. That was his idea. He was feared you might stop his smoking. CINDERELLA. And so I will. MRS. M. What’s the treatment? CINDERELLA (_writing after consideration on a piece of paper_). One of them mustard leaves. MRS. M. (_taking the paper_). Is there no medicine? CINDERELLA (_faltering_). I’m a little feared about medicine, Mrs. Maloney. MRS. M. He’ll be a kind of low-spirited if there’s not a lick of medicine. CINDERELLA. Have you any in the house? MRS. M. There’s what was left over of the powders my lodger had when the kettle fell on his foot. CINDERELLA. You could give him one of them when the cough is troublesome. Good night, Mrs. Maloney. MRS. M. Thank you kindly. (_She puts a penny on the table._) CINDERELLA (_with polite surprise_). What’s that? MRS. M. It’s the penny. CINDERELLA. So it is! Good night, Mrs. Maloney. MRS. M. Good night, Cinders. (_She departs. The penny falls into_ CINDERELLA’S _box with a pleasant clink_.) CINDERELLA. Next. (_A woman of 35 comes forward. She is dejected, thin-lipped, and unlovable._) MARION (_tossing her head_). You’re surprised to see _me_, I daresay. CINDERELLA (_guardedly_). I haven’t the pleasure of knowing you. MARION (_glancing at the remaining occupant of the bench_). Is that man sleeping? Who is he? I don’t know him. CINDERELLA. He’s sleeping. What can I do for you? MARION (_harshly_). Nothing, I daresay. I’m at Catullo’s Buildings. Now they’re turning me out. They say I’m not respectable. CINDERELLA (_enlightened_). You’re—that woman? MARION (_defiantly_). That’s me. CINDERELLA (_shrinking_). I don’t think there’s nothing I could do for you. MARION (_rather appealing_). Maybe there is. I see you’ve heard my story. They say there’s a man comes to see me at times though he has a wife in Hoxton. CINDERELLA. I’ve heard. MARION. So I’m being turned out. CINDERELLA. I don’t think it’s a case for me. MARION. Yes, it is. CINDERELLA. Are you terrible fond of him? MARION. Fond of him! Damn him! (CINDERELLA _shrinks_. MARION _makes sure that the man is asleep_.) Cinders, they’ve got the story wrong; it’s me as is his wife; I was married to him in a church. He met that woman long after and took up with her. CINDERELLA. What! Then why do you not tell the truth? MARION. It’s my pride keeps me from telling. I would rather be thought to be the wrong ’un he likes than the wife the law makes him help. CINDERELLA. Is that pride? MARION. It’s all the pride that’s left to me. CINDERELLA. I’m awful sorry for you, but I can’t think of no advice to give you. MARION. It’s not advice I want. CINDERELLA. What is it then? MARION. It’s pity. I fling back all the gutter words they fling at me, but my heart, Cinders, is wet at times. It’s wet for one to pity me. CINDERELLA. I pity you. MARION. You’ll tell nobody? CINDERELLA. No. MARION. Can I come in now and again at a time? CINDERELLA. I’ll be glad to see you—if I’m here.