_Hamish_.

Of course, And you know why.

_Jean_.

Do I? I've forgotten.

_Hamish_.

Jean, how can you say that? O how can you?

_Jean_.

Now don't begin to pity yourself, please.

_Hamish_.

Ah, I am learning now; it's truth they talk.

You would undo the skill of a spider's web And take the inches of it in one line, More easily than know a woman's thought.

I'm ugly on a sudden?

_Jean_.

The queer thing About you men is that you will have women Love in the way you do. But now learn this; We don't love fellows for their skins; we want Something to wonder at in the way they love.

A chap may be as rough as brick, if you like, Yes, or a mannikin and grow a tail,-- If he's the s.p.u.n.k in him to love a girl Mainly and heartily, he's the man for her.-- My soul, I've done with all you pretty men; I want to stand in a thing as big as a wind; And I can only get your paper fans!

_Hamish_.

You've done with me? You wicked Jean! You'll dare To throw me off like this? After you've made, O, made my whole heart love you?

_Jean_.

You are no good.

Your friend, now, seems a likely man; but you?-- I thought you were a torch; and you're a squib.

_Hamish_.

Not love you enough? Death, I'll show you then.

_Jean_.

Hands off, Hamish. There's smoke in you, I know, And splutter too. Hands off, I say.

_Hamish_.

By G.o.d Tell me to-morrow there's no force in me!

_Jean_.

Leave go, you little beast, you're hurting me: I never thought you'ld be so strong as this.

Let go, or I'll bite; I mean it. You young fool, I'm not for you. Take off your hands. O help!

[MORRIS _has come in unseen and rushes forward_.

_Morris_.

You beast! You filthy villainous fellow!--Now, I hope I've hurt the h.e.l.lish brain in you.

Take yourself off. You'll need a nurse to-night.

[HAMISH _slinks out_.

Poor girl! And are you sprained at all? That ruffian!

_Jean_.

O sir, how can I thank you? You don't know What we poor serving girls must put up with.

We don't hear many voices like yours, sir.

They think, because we serve, we've no more right To feelings than their cattle. O forgive me Talking to you. You don't come often here.

_Morris_.

No, but I will: after to-night I'll see You take no harm. And as for him, I'll smash him.

_Jean_.

Yes, break the devil's ribs,--I mean,--O leave me; I'm all distraught.

_Morris_.

Good night, Jean. My name's Morris.

_Jean_.

Good night, Morris--dear. O I must thank you.

[_She suddenly kisses him_.

Perhaps,--perhaps, you'll think that wicked of me?

_Morris_.

You wicked? O how silly!--But--good night.

[_He goes_.

_Jean_.

The man, the man! What luck! My soul, what luck!

II

JEAN _by herself, undressing_.

Yes, he's the man. Jean, my girl, you're done for, At last you're done for, the good G.o.d be thankt.-- That was a wonderful look he had in his eyes: 'Tis a heart, I believe, that will burn marvellously!

Now what a thing it is to be a girl!

Who'ld be a man? Who'ld be fuel for fire And not the quickening touch that sets it flaming?-- 'Tis true that when we've set him well alight (As I, please G.o.d, have set this Morris burning) We must be serving him like something worshipt; But is it to a man we kneel? No, no; But to our own work, to the blaze we kindled!

O, he caught bravely. Now there's nothing at all So rare, such a wild adventure of glee, As watching love for you in a man beginning;-- To see the sight of you pour into his senses Like brandy gulpt down by a frozen man, A thing that runs scalding about his blood; To see him holding himself firm against The sudden strength of wildness beating in him!

O what my life is waiting for, at last Is started, I believe: I've turned a man To a power not to be reckoned; I shall be Held by his love like a light thing in a river!

III

MORRIS _by himself_.

It is a wonder! Here's this poor thing, Life, Troubled with labours of the endless war The l.u.s.ty flesh keeps up against the spirit; And down amid the anger--who knows whence?-- Comes Love, and at once the struggling mutiny Falls quiet, unendurably rebuked: And the whole strength of life is free to serve Spirit, under the regency of Love.

The quiet that is in me! The bright peace!

Instead of smoke and dust, the peace of Love!

Truly I knew not what a turmoil life Has been, and how rebellious, till this peace Came shining down! And yet I have seen things, And heard things, that were strangely meaning this,-- Telling me strangely that life can be all One power undisturbed, one perfect honour,-- Waters at noonday sounding among hills, Or moonlight lost among vast curds of cloud;-- But never knew I it is only Love Can rule the noise of life to heavenly quiet.

Ah, Jean, if thou wilt love me, thou shalt have Never from me upon thy purity The least touch of that eager baseness, known, For shame's disguising, by the name of Love Most wickedly; thou shalt not need to fear Aught from my love, for surely thou shalt know It is a love that almost fears to love thee.

IV

_The Public House_. MORRIS _and_ JEAN.