Act III

Scene.⁠—A garret-room. Mattie. Susan.

Mattie At the worst we’ve got to die some day, Sue, and I don’t know but hunger may be as easy a way as another.
Susan I’d rather have a choice, though. And it’s not hunger I would choose.
Mattie There are worse ways.
Susan Never mind: we don’t seem likely to be bothered wi’ choosin’.
Mattie There’s that buttonhole done. Lays down her work with a sigh, and leans back in her chair.
Susan I’ll take it to old Nathan. It’ll be a chop apiece. It’s wonderful what a chop can do to hearten you up.
Mattie I don’t think we ought to buy chops, dear. We must be content with bread, I think.
Susan Bread, indeed!
Mattie Well, it’s something to eat.
Susan Do you call it eatin’ when you see a dog polishin’ a bone?
Mattie Bread’s very good with a cup of tea.
Susan Tea, indeed! Fawn-colour, trimmed with sky-blue!⁠—If you’d mentioned lobster-salad and sherry, now!
Mattie I never tasted lobster-salad.
Susan I have, though; and I do call lobster-salad good. You don’t care about your wittles: I do. When I’m hungry, I’m not at all comfortable.
Mattie Poor dear Sue! There is a crust in the cupboard.
Susan I can’t eat crusts. I want summat nice. I ain’t dyin’ of ’unger. It’s only I’m peckish. Very peckish, though. I could eat⁠—let me see what I could eat:⁠—I could eat a lobster-salad, and two dozen oysters, and a lump of cake, and a wing and a leg of a chicken⁠—if it was a spring chicken, with watercreases round it⁠—and a Bath-bun, and a sandwich; and in fact I don’t know what I couldn’t eat, except just that crust in the cupboard. And I do believe I could drink a whole bottle of champagne.
Mattie I don’t know what one of those things tastes like⁠—scarce one; and I don’t believe you do either.
Susan Don’t I?⁠—I never did taste champagne, but I’ve seen them eating lobster-salad many a time;⁠—girls not half so good-lookin’ as you or me, Mattie, and fine gentlemen a waitin’ upon ’em. Oh dear! I am so hungry! Think of having your supper with a real gentleman as talks to you as if you was fit to talk to⁠—not like them Jew-tailors, as tosses your work about as if it dirtied their fingers⁠—and them none so clean for all their fine rings!
Mattie I saw Nathan’s Joseph in a pastrycook’s last Saturday, and a very pretty girl with him, poor thing!
Susan Oh the hussy to let that beast pay for her!
Mattie I suppose she was hungry.
Susan I’d die before I let a snob like that treat me. No, Mattie! I spoke of a real gentleman.
Mattie Are you sure you wouldn’t take Nathan’s Joseph for a gentleman if he was civil to you?
Susan Thank you, miss! I know a sham from a real gentleman the moment I set eyes on him.
Mattie What do you mean by a real gentleman, Susan?
Susan A gentleman as makes a lady of his girl.
Mattie But what sort of lady, Sue? The poor girl may fancy herself a lady, but only till she’s left in the dirt. That sort of gentleman makes fine speeches to your face, and calls you horrid names behind your back. Sue, dear, don’t have a word to say to one of them⁠—if he speaks ever so soft.
Susan Lawks, Mattie! they ain’t all one sort.
Mattie You won’t have more than one sort to choose from. They may be rough or civil, good-natured or bad, but they’re all the same in this, that not one of them cares a pin more for you than if you was a horse⁠—no⁠—nor half a quarter so much. Don’t for God’s sake have a word to say to one of them. If I die, Susan⁠—
Susan If you do, Matilda⁠—if you go and do that thing, I’ll take to gin⁠—that’s what I’ll do. Don’t say I didn’t act fair, and tell you beforehand.
Mattie How can I help dying, Susan?
Susan I say, Don’t do it, Mattie. We’ll fall out, if you do. Don’t do it, Matilda⁠—La! there’s that lumping Bill again⁠—always a comin’ up the stair when you don’t want him!
Enter Bill.
Mattie Well, Bill, how have you been getting on?
Bill Pretty tollol, Mattie. But I can’t go on so. Holds out his stool. It ain’t respectable.
Mattie What ain’t respectable? Everything’s respectable that’s honest.
Bill Why, who ever saw a respectable shiner goin’ about with a three-legged stool for a blackin’ box? It ain’t the thing. The rig’lars chaffs me fit to throw it at their ’eads, they does⁠—only there’s too many on ’em, an’ I’ve got to dror it mild. A box I must have, or a feller’s ockypation’s gone. Look ye here! One bob, one tanner, and a joey! There! that’s what comes of never condescending to an ’a’penny.
Susan Bless us! what mighty fine words we’ve got a waitin’ on us!
Bill If I ’ave a weakness, Miss Susan, it’s for the right word in the right place⁠—as the coster said to the devil-dodger as blowed him up for purfane swearin’.⁠—When a gen’leman hoffers me an ’a’penny, I axes him in the purlitest manner I can assume, to oblige me by givin’ of it to the first beggar he may ’ave the good fort’n to meet. Some on ’em throws down the ’a’penny. Most on ’em makes it a penny.⁠—But I say, Mattie, you don’t want nobody arter you⁠—do you now?
Mattie I don’t know what you mean by that, Bill.
Bill You don’t want a father⁠—do you now? Do she, Susan?
Susan We want no father a hectorin’ here, Bill. You ’ain’t seen one about, have you?
Bill I seen a rig’lar swell arter Mattie, anyhow.
Mattie What do you mean, Bill? Bill. A rig’lar swell⁠—I repeats it⁠—a astin’ arter a young woman by the name o’ Mattie.
Susan Pulling him aside. Hold your tongue, Bill! You’ll kill her! You young viper! Hold your tongue, or I’ll twist your neck. Don’t you see how white she is?
Mattie What was he like? Do tell me, Bill.
Bill A long-legged rig’lar swell, with a gold chain, and a cane with a hivory ’andle.
Susan He’s a bad man, Bill, and Mattie can’t abide him. If you tell him where she is, she’ll never speak to you again.
Mattie Oh, Susan! what shall I do? Don’t bring him here, Bill. I shall have to run away again; and I can’t, for we owe a week’s rent.
Susan There, Bill!
Bill Don’t you be afeard, Mattie. He shan’t touch you. Nor the old one neither.
Mattie There wasn’t an old man with him?⁠—not an old man with a long stick?
Bill Not with him. Daddy was on his own hook?
Mattie It must have been my father, Susan. Sinks back on her chair.
Susan ’Tain’t the least likely.⁠—There, Bill! I always said you was no good! You’ve killed her.
Bill Mattie! Mattie! I didn’t tell him where you was.
Mattie Reviving. Run and fetch him, Bill⁠—there’s a dear! Oh! how proud I’ve been! If mother did say a hard word, she didn’t mean it⁠—not for long. Run, Bill, run and fetch him.
Bill Mattie, I was a fetchin’ of him, but he wouldn’t trust me. And didn’t he cut up crusty, and collar me tight! He’s a game old cock⁠—he is, Mattie.
Mattie Getting up and pacing about the room. Oh, Susan! my heart’ll break. To think he’s somewhere near and I can’t get to him! Oh my side! Don’t you know where he is, Bill?
Bill He’s someveres about, and blow me if I don’t, find him!⁠—a respectable old party in a white pinny, an’ ’peared as if he’d go on a walkin’ till he walked hisself up staudin’. A scrumptious old party!
Mattie Had he a stick, Bill?
Bill Yes⁠—a knobby stick⁠—leastways a stick wi’ knobs all over it.
Mattie That’s him, Susan!
Bill I could swear to the stick. I was too near gittin’ at the taste on it not to know it again.
Mattie When was it you saw him, Bill?
Bill Yesterday, Mattie⁠—jest arter you give me the tart. I sawr him again this mornin’, but he wouldn’t place no confidence in me.
Mattie Oh dear! Why didn’t you come straight to me, Bill?
Bill If I’d only ha’ known as you wanted him! But that was sech a unlikely thing! It’s werry perwokin’! I uses my judgment, an’ puts my hoof in it! I am sorry, Mattie. But I didn’t know no better crying.
Mattie Don’t cry, Bill. You’ll find him for me yet⁠—won’t you?
Bill I’m off this indentical minute. But you see⁠—
Susan There! there!⁠—now you mizzle. I don’t want no fathers here⁠—goodness knows; but the poor girl’s took a fancy to hers, and she’ll die if she don’t get him. Run now⁠—there’s a good boy! Exit Bill. You ’ain’t forgotten who’s a comin’, Mattie?
Mattie No, indeed.
Susan Well, I hope she’ll be civil, or I’ll just give her a bit of my mind.
Mattie Not enough to change hers, I’m afraid. That sort of thing never does any good.
Susan And am I to go a twiddlin’ of my thumbs, and sayin’ “yes, ma’am,” an’ “no, ma’am?” Not if I knows it, Matilda!
Mattie You will only make her the more positive in her ill opinion of us.
Susan An’ what’s that to me?
Mattie Well, I don’t like to be thought a thief. Besides, Mrs. Clifford has been kind to us.
Susan She’s paid us for work done; so has old Nathan.
Mattie Did old Nathan ever give you a glass of wine when you took home his slops?
Susan Oh! that don’t cost much; and besides, she takes it out in kingdom-come.
Mattie You’re unfair, Susan.
Susan Well, it’s little fairness I get.
Mattie And to set that right you’re unfair yourself! What you call speaking your mind, is as cheap, and as nasty, as the worst shoddy old Nathan ever got gobble-stitched into coats and trousers.
Susan Very well, Miss Matilda! Rising and snatching her bonnet. The sooner we part the better! You stick by your fine friends! I don’t care that for them! Snapping her fingers.⁠—and you may tell ’em so! I can make a livin’ without them or you either. Goodness gracious knows it ain’t much of a livin’ I’ve made sin’ I come across you, Miss! Exit.
Mattie Trying to rise. Susan! Susan! Lays her head on the table.
A tap at the door, and enter Mrs. Clifford, with James behind. Mattie rises.
Mrs. Clifford Wait on the landing, James.
James Yes, ma’am.
Exit James, leaving the door a little ajar.
Mrs. Clifford Well, Miss Pearson! Mattie offers a chair. No, thank you. That person is still with you, I see!
Mattie Indeed, ma’am, she’s an honest girl.
Mrs. Clifford She is a low creature, and capable of anything. I advise you to get rid of her.
Mattie Was she rude on the stair, ma’am?
Mrs. Clifford Rude! Vulgar⁠—quite vulgar! Insulting!
Mattie I am very sorry. But, believe me, ma’am, she is an honest girl, and never pawned that work. It was done⁠—every stitch of it; and the loss of the money is hard upon us too. Indeed, ma’am, she did lose the parcel.
Mrs. C. You have only her word for it. If you don’t give her up, I give you up.
Mattie I can’t, ma’am. She might go into bad ways if I did.
Mrs. Clifford She can’t well get into worse. Her language! You would do ever so much better without her.
Mattie I daren’t, ma’am. I should never get it off my conscience.
Mrs. Clifford Your conscience indeed! Rising. I wish you a good morning, Miss Pearson.⁠—Sound of a blow, followed by scuffling.⁠—What is that? I fear I have got into an improper place.
Susan bursts in.
Susan Yes, ma’am, and that you have! It’s a wery improper place for the likes o’ you, ma’am⁠—as believes all sorts o’ wicked things of people as is poor. Who are you to bring your low flunkies a-listenin’ at honest girls’ doors! Turning to James in the doorway. Get out, will you? Let me catch you here again, and I’ll mark you that the devil wouldn’t know his own! You dirty Paul Pry⁠—you! Falls on her knees to Mattie. Mattie, you angel!
Mattie Trying to make her get up. Never mind. It’s all right between you and me, Susan.
Mrs. Clifford I see! I thought as much!
Susan Starting up. As much as what, then, my lady? Oh, I know you and your sort⁠—well enough! We’re the dirt under your feet⁠—lucky if we stick to your shoes! But this room’s mine.
Mrs. Clifford That linen was mine, young woman, I believe.
Susan An’ it’s for that miserable parcel you come a-talkin’, an’ abusin’ as no lady ought to! How dare you look that angel in the face there an’ say she stole it⁠—which you’re not fit to lace her boots for her! There!
Mattie Susan! Susan! do be quiet.
Susan It’s all very well for the likes o’ me courtesying spitefully⁠—which I’m no better’n I should be, and a great deal worse, if I’m on my oath to your ladyship⁠—that’s neither here nor there!⁠—but she’s better’n a van-load o’ sich ladies as you, pryin’ into other people’s houses, with yer bibles, an’ yer religion, an’ yer flunkies! I know ye! I do!
Mattie Don’t, Susan.
Susan Why don’t ye go an’ pay twopence a week to somebody to learn ye good manners? I been better brought up myself.
Mrs. Clifford I see I was wrong: I ought at once to have handed the matter over to the police.
Susan The perlice, indeed!⁠—You get out of this, ma’am, or I’ll make you!⁠—you and your cowardly man-pup there, as is afraid to look me in the face through the crack o’ the door! Get out, I say, with your⁠—insolence⁠—that’s your word!
Exit Mrs. Clifford.
Mattie Susan! Susan! what is to become of us?
Susan She daren’t do it⁠—the old scrooge! But just let her try it on! See if I don’t show her up afore the magistrate! Mattie! I’ll work my fingers to the bone for you. I would do worse, only you won’t let me. I’ll go to the court, and tell the magistrate you’re a-dyin’ of hunger, which it’s as true as gospel.
Mattie They’d send me to the workhouse, Sukey.
Susan There must be some good people somewheres, Mattie.
Mattie Yes; if we could get at them. But we can live till we die, Sukey.
Susan I’ll go and list for a soldier, I will. Women ha’ done it afore. It’s quite respectable, so long as they don’t find you out⁠—and they shouldn’t me. There’s ne’er a one o’ the redcoats ’ill cut up rougher ’n I shall⁠—barrin’ the beard, and that don’t go for much nowadays.
Mattie And what should I do without you, Susan?
Susan Do you care to have me, then?
Mattie That I do, indeed. But you shouldn’t have talked like that to Mrs. Clifford. Ladies ain’t used to such words. They sound worse than they are⁠—quite dreadful, to them. She don’t know your kind heart as I do. Besides, the look of things is against us. Ain’t it now? Say yourself.
Susan Starting up. I’ll go and beg her pardon. I’ll go direckly⁠—I will. I swear I will. I can’t abear her, but I’ll do it. I believe hunger has nigh drove me mad.
Mattie It takes all the madness out of me.⁠—No, Susan; we must bear it now. Come along. We can be miserable just as well working. There’s your sleeve. I’ll thread your needle for you. Don’t cry⁠—there’s a dear!
Susan I will cry. It’s all I ever could do to my own mind, and it’s all as is left me. But if I could get my claws on that lovyer o’ yours, I wouldn’t cry then. He’s at the bottom of it! I don’t see myself what’s the use of fallin’ in love. One man’s as much of a fool as another to me. But you must go to bed. You ain’t fit. You’ll be easier when you’ve got your frock off. There! Why, child, you’re all of a tremble!⁠—And no wonder, wi’ nothing on her blessed body but her frock and her shimmy!
Mattie Don’t take off my frock, Sue. I must get on with my work.
Susan Lie down a bit, anyhow. I’ll lie at your back, and you’ll soon be as warm’s a toast. Mattie lies down. O Lord! she’s dead! Her heart’s stopped beatin’. Runs out of the room.
A moment of silence. A tap at the door. Constance peeps in, then enters, with a basket.
Constance Miss Pearson!⁠—She’s asleep. Goes near. Good heavens! Lays her hand on her. No. Takes a bottle from her basket, finds a cup, and pours into it. Take this, Miss Pearson; it will do you good. There now! You’ll find something else in the basket.
Mattie I don’t want anything. I had so nearly got away! Why did you bring me back?
Constance Life is good!
Mattie It is not good. How dare you do it? Why keep a miserable creature alive? Life ain’t to us what it is to you. The grave is the only place we have any right to.
Constance If I could make your life worth something to you⁠—
Mattie You make my life worth to me! You don’t know what you’re saying, miss. Sitting up.
Constance I think I do.
Mattie I will not owe my life to you. I could love you, though⁠—your hands are so white, and your look so brave. That’s what comes of being born a lady. We never have a chance.
Constance Miss Pearson⁠—Mattie, I would call you, if you wouldn’t be offended⁠—
Mattie Me offended, miss!⁠—I’ve not got life enough for it. I only want my father and my mother, and a long sleep.⁠—If I had been born rich⁠—
Constance You might have been miserable all the same. Listen, Mattie. I will tell you my story⁠—I was once as badly off as you⁠—worse in some ways⁠—ran about the streets without shoes to my feet, and hardly a frock to cover me.
Mattie La, miss! you don’t say so! It’s not possible! Look at you!
Constance Indeed, I tell you the truth. I know what hunger is too⁠—well enough. My father was a silkweaver in Spitalfields. When he died, I didn’t know where to go. But a gentleman⁠—
Mattie Oh! a gentleman!⁠—Fiercely. Why couldn’t you be content with one, then?
Constance I don’t understand you.
Mattie I dare say not! There! take your basket. I’ll die afore a morsel passes my lips. There! Go away, miss.
Constance Aside. Poor girl! she is delirious. I must ask William to fetch a doctor. Exit.
Mattie I wish my hands were as white as hers.
Enter Susan, followed by Col. Gervaise. Constance behind.
Susan Mattie! dear Mattie! this gentleman⁠—don’t be vexed⁠—I couldn’t help him bein’ a gentleman; I was cryin’ that bad, and I didn’t see no one come up to me, and when he spoke to me, it made me jump, and I couldn’t help answerin’ of him⁠—he spoke so civil and soft like, and me nigh mad! I thought you was dead, Mattie. He says he’ll see us righted, Mattie.
Col. Gervaise I’ll do what I can, if you will tell me what’s amiss.
Susan Oh, everything’s amiss⁠—everything!⁠—Who was that went out, Mattie⁠—this minute⁠—as we come in?
Mattie Miss Lacordère.
Susan Her imperence! Well! I should die of shame if I was her.
Mattie She’s an angel, Susan. There’s her basket. I told her to take it away, but she would leave it.
Susan Peeping into the basket. Oh, my! Ain’t this nice? You must have a bit, Mattie.
Mattie Not one mouthful. You wouldn’t have me, Susan!
Susan I ain’t so peticlar eating a great mouthful. You really must, Mattie. Goes on eating.
Col. Gervaise Don’t tease her. We’ll get something for her presently. And don’t you eat too much⁠—all at once.
Susan I think she’d like a chop, sir.⁠—There’s that boy, Bill, again!⁠—Always when he ain’t wanted!
Enter Bill.
Bill Aside to Susan. What’s the row? What’s that ’ere gent up to? I’ve been an’ had enough o’ gents. They’re a bad lot. I been too much for one on ’em, though. I ha’ run him down.⁠—And, Mattie, I’ve found the old gen’leman.
Mattie My father, Bill?
Bill That’s it percisely! Right as a trivet⁠—he is!
Mattie Susan! take hold of me. My heart’s going again.
Bill Lord! what’s up wi’ Mattie? She do look dreadful.
Susan You been an’ upset her, you clumsy boy! Here⁠—run and fetch a sausage or two, and a⁠—
Col. Gervaise No, no! That will never do.
Susan Them’s for Bill and me, sir. I was a goin’ on, sir.⁠—And, Bill, a chop⁠—a nice chop. But Lord! how are we to cook it, with never a fryin’-pan, or a bit o’ fire to set it on!
Col. Gervaise You’d never think of doing a chop for an invalid in the frying-pan?
Susan Certainly not, sir⁠—we ’ain’t got one. Everything’s up the spout an’ over the top. Run, Bill. A bit of cold chicken, and two pints o’ bottled stout. There’s the money the gen’leman give me.⁠—’T ’ain’t no Miss Lackodare’s, Mattie.
Bill I’ll trouble no gen’leman to perwide for my family⁠—obleeged all the same, sir. Mattie never wos a dub at dewourin’, but I’ll get her some’at toothsome. I favours grub myself.
Col. Gervaise I’ll go with you, Bill. I want to talk to you.
Bill Well, I ’ain’t no objection⁠—so be you wants to talk friendly, sir.
Col. Gervaise Good night. I’ll come and see you tomorrow.
Susan God bless you, sir. You’ve saved both on our lives. I was a goin’ to drown myself, Mattie⁠—I really was this time. Wasn’t I, sir?
Col. Gervaise Well, you looked like it⁠—that is all I can say. You shall do it next time⁠—so far as I’m concerned.
Susan I won’t never no more again, sir⁠—not if Mattie don’t drive me to it.
Constance To Col. Gervaise. Come back for me in a little while.
Col. Gervaise Yes, miss. Come, Bill. Exit.
Bill All right, sir. I’m a follerin’, as the cat said to the pigeon. Exit.
Susan I’ll just go and get you a cup o’ tea. Mrs. Jones’s kettle’s sure to be a bilin’. That’s what you would like.
Exit. Constance steps aside, and Susan passes without seeing her.
Mattie Oh! to be a baby again in my mother’s arms! But it’ll soon be over now.
Constance comes forward.
Constance I hope you’re a little better now?
Mattie You’re very kind, miss; and I beg your pardon for speaking to you as I did.
Constance Don’t say a word about it. You didn’t quite know what you were saying. I’m in trouble myself. I don’t know how soon I may be worse off than you.
Mattie Why, miss, I thought you were going to be married!
Constance No, I am not.
Mattie Why, miss, what’s happened. He’s never going to play you false⁠—is he?
Constance I don’t mean ever to speak to him again!
Mattie What has he done to offend you, miss?
Constance Nothing. Only I know now I don’t like him. To tell you the truth, Mattie, he’s not a gentleman.
Mattie Not a gentleman, miss! How dare you say so?
Constance Do you know anything about him? Did you ever see him?
Mattie Yes.
Constance Where?
Mattie Once at your house.
Constance Oh! I remember⁠—that time! I begin to⁠—It couldn’t be at the sight of him you fainted, Mattie?⁠—You knew him? Tell me! tell me! Make me sure of it.
Mattie To give you your revenge! No. It’s a mean spite to say he ain’t a gentleman.
Constance Perhaps you and I have different ideas of what goes to make a gentleman.
Mattie Very likely.
Constance Oh! don’t be vexed, Mattie. I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Mattie Oh! I dare say!
Constance If you talk to me like that, I must go.
Mattie I never asked you to come.
Constance Well, I did want to be friendly with you. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.
Mattie Bursting into tears. I beg your pardon, miss. I’m behaving like a brute. But you must forgive me; my heart is breaking.
Constance Poor dear! Kissing her. So is mine almost. Let us be friends. Where’s Susan gone?
Mattie To fetch me a cup of tea. She’ll be back directly.
Constance Don’t let her say bad words: I can’t bear them. I think it’s because I was so used to them once⁠—in the streets, I mean⁠—not at home⁠—never at home.
Mattie She don’t often, miss. She’s a good-hearted creature. It’s only when hunger makes her cross. She don’t like to be hungry.
Constance I should think not, poor girl!
Mattie Don’t mind what she says, please. If you say nothing, she’ll come all right. When she’s spoken her mind, she feels better. Here she comes!
Reenter Susan. It begins to grow dark.
Susan Well, and who have we got here?
Mattie Miss Lacordère, Sukey.
Susan There’s no lack o’ dare about her, to come here!
Mattie It’s very kind of her to come, Susan.
Susan I tell you what, miss: that parcel was stole. It was stole, miss!⁠—stole from me⁠—an’ that angel there a dyin’ in the street!
Constance I’m quite sure of it, Susan. I never thought anything else.
Susan Not but I allow it was a pity, miss!⁠—I’m very sorry. But, bless you! Lighting a candle.⁠—with all your fine clothes⁠—! My! you look like a theayter-queen⁠—you do, miss! If you was to send them up the spout now!⁠—My! what a lot they’d let you have on that silk!
Constance The shawl is worth a good deal, I believe. It’s an Indian one⁠—all needlework.
Susan And the bee-utiful silk! Laws, miss! just shouldn’t I like to wear a frock like that! I should be hard up before I pledged that! But the shawl! If I was you, miss, I would send ’most everything up before that!⁠—things inside, you know, miss⁠—where it don’t matter so much.
Constance Laughing. The shawl would be the first thing I should part with. I would rather be nice inside than out.
Susan Lawk, miss! I shouldn’t wonder if that was one of the differs now! Well, I never! It ain’t seen! It must be one o’ the differs!
Constance What differs? I don’t understand you.
Susan The differs ’tween girls an’ ladies⁠—girls like me an’ real ladies like you.
Constance Oh, I see! But how dark it has got! What can be keeping William? I must go at once, or what will my aunt say! Would you mind going with me a little bit, Susan?
Susan I’ll go with pleasure, miss.
Constance Just a little way, I mean, till we get to the wide streets. You couldn’t lend me an old cloak, could you?
Susan I ’ain’t got one stitch, miss, but what I stand up in⁠—’cep’ it be a hodd glove an’ ’alf a pocket-’an’kercher. Nobody ’ill know you.
Constance But I oughtn’t to be out dressed like this.
Susan You’ve only got to turn up your skirt over your head, miss.
Constance Drawing up her skirt. I never thought of that!
Susan Well, I never!
Constance What’s the matter?
Susan Only the whiteness o’ the linin’ as took my breath away, miss. It ain’t no use turnin’ of it up: you’ll look like a lady whatever you do to hide it. But never mind: that ain’t no disgrace so long as you don’t look down on the rest of us. There, miss! There you are⁠—fit for a play! Come along; I’ll take care of you. Lawks! I’m as good as a man⁠—I am!
Constance Goodbye then, Mattie.
Mattie Goodbye, miss. God bless you.
Exeunt.

End of Act III.