MARY. I can't quite say. At least . . . ROBERT. Mebbe 'e wrote--sent a telingram or summat, eh?--t' say as 'e was comin'? MARY [quickly]. Oh no: he never writes: we never hear from him. That's perhaps a bit selfish of him, too, isn't it? ROBERT [after a moment]. Looks like it, don't it? MARY. But I don't think he can be really selfish, after all. ROBERT [with a ray of brightness]. Cos why? MARY. Because he must be rather like my Uncle William and Uncle Joshua. [He looks at her curiously.] ROBERT. Like your . . . MARY. Yes--they're his brothers, you know. This is Uncle William's house. ROBERT. Yes, but what do you know about. . . MARY. About Uncle Joshua? Well, I happen to know a good deal more than I can say. It's a secret. ROBERT. S'pose your _Uncle William_ spoke to you about 'im? MARY. Well, yes. Uncle William spoke about him, too. ROBERT. But never about your father? MARY. Oh no, never. ROBERT. Why, miss? MARY [slowly]. I--don't--know. ROBERT. P'r'aps 'e ain't--good enough--to be--to be the brother of your Uncle William--and-- Uncle--Joshua--eh, miss? MARY. Oh, I can't think that! ROBERT. Why not, miss? Three good brothers in a family don't scarcely seem possible--not as families go--do they, miss? MARY. You mustn't talk like that! A father must be much--much better than anybody else! ROBERT. But s'pose, miss--s'pose 'e ain't . . . MARY. He is! I know it! Why, that's what I'm wishing! . . . ROBERT. P'r'aps it ain't altogether 'is fault, miss! . . . MARY. Oh, don't! Don't. . . ROBERT. Things may 'a' bin agin 'im, miss! . . . MARY. Oh, you make me so unhappy! . . . ROBERT. P'r'aps 'e's 'ad a 'ard life--a bitter 'ard life--same as I 'av', miss . . . [He breaks down.] MARY. Ssh! Please! Please! . . . I can quite understand: indeed, indeed, I can! I'm sorry--oh, so sorry for you. You are thinking of yourself and of your own little girl--the little girl who doesn't know what you have been telling me. Don't be miserable! I'm sure it will all turn out right in the end--things always do; far better than you dream! Only . . . don't take away _my_ little dream! [She turns away her face. ROBERT rises heavily.] ROBERT. All right, miss--I won't: swelp me Gawd, I won't. Don't cry, miss. Don't, miss! Breaks my 'eart--after all you've done for me. I ort never to 'a' bin born--mekin' you cry! Thank you kindly, miss: thank you very kindly. I'll--I'll tek my 'ook. MARY. Oh, but I'm so sorry for _you_! ROBERT. Thank you, miss. MARY. I did so want to help you. ROBERT. You 'av', miss. MARY. Before you go, won't you tell me your name? Who are you? ROBERT. I . . . I got no name worth speakin' of, miss: I'm--just the bloke wot's a-lookin' arter the drains. Good-bye, miss. [At the door, he turns.] Sorry I used bad words, miss. [She runs to him and offers her hand. He takes it.] MARY. Good-bye, ROBERT. Good-bye, miss. [He goes out.]