ANNA--[With a laugh.] There you go kiddin' again. [Then seeing his hurt expression--quickly.] But you was going to tell me about yourself. You're Irish, of course I can tell that. BURKE--[Stoutly.] Yes, thank God, though I've not seen a sight of it in fifteen years or more. ANNA--[Thoughtfully.] Sailors never do go home hardly, do they? That's what my father was saying. BURKE--He wasn't telling no lie. [With sudden melancholy.] It's a hard and lonesome life, the sea is. The only women you'd meet in the ports of the world who'd be willing to speak you a kind word isn't woman at all. You know the kind I mane, and they're a poor, wicked lot, God forgive them. They're looking to steal the money from you only. ANNA--[Her face averted--rising to her feet--agitatedly.] I think--I guess I'd better see what's doing inside. BURKE--[Afraid he has offended her--beseechingly.] Don't go, I'm saying! Is it I've given you offence with my talk of the like of them? Don't heed it at all! I'm clumsy in my wits when it comes to talking proper with a girl the like of you. And why wouldn't I be? Since the day I left home for to go to sea punching coal, this is the first time I've had a word with a rale, dacent woman. So don't turn your back on me now, and we beginning to be friends. ANNA--[Turning to him again--forcing a smile.] I'm not sore at you, honest. BURKE--[Gratefully.] God bless you! ANNA--[Changing the subject abruptly.] But if you honestly think the sea's such a rotten life, why don't you get out of it? BURKE--[Surprised.] Work on land, is it? [She nods. He spits scornfully.] Digging spuds in the muck from dawn to dark, I suppose? [Vehemently.] I wasn't made for it, Miss. ANNA--[With a laugh.] I thought you'd say that. BURKE--[Argumentatively.] But there's good jobs and bad jobs at sea, like there'd be on land. I'm thinking if it's in the stokehole of a proper liner I was, I'd be able to have a little house and be home to it wan week out of four. And I'm thinking that maybe then I'd have the luck to find a fine dacent girl--the like of yourself, now--would be willing to wed with me. ANNA--[Turning away from him with a short laugh--uneasily.] Why, sure. Why not? BURKE--[Edging up close to her--exultantly.] Then you think a girl the like of yourself might maybe not mind the past at all but only be seeing the good herself put in me? ANNA--[In the same tone.] Why, sure. BURKE--[Passionately.] She'd not be sorry for it, I'd take my oath! 'Tis no more drinking and roving about I'd be doing then, but giving my pay day into her hand and staying at home with her as meek as a lamb each night of the week I'd be in port. ANNA--[Moved in spite of herself and troubled by this half-concealed proposal--with a forced laugh.] All you got to do is find the girl. BURKE--I have found her! ANNA--[Half-frightenedly--trying to laugh it off.] You have? When? I thought you was saying--