[_She
suddenly
kisses him_.
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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 God 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!
