beautiful woman, and myself a pitiful show.

MARY DOUL. I can't help your looks, Martin Doul. It wasn't
myself made you with your rat's eyes, and your big ears, and your
griseldy chin.

MARTIN DOUL -- [rubs his chin ruefully, then beams with delight.]
-- There's one thing you've forgot, if you're a cute thinking
woman itself.

MARY DOUL. Your slouching feet, is it? Or your hooky neck, or
your two knees is black with knocking one on the other?

MARTIN DOUL -- [with delighted scorn.] -- There's talking for a
cute woman. There's talking, surely!

MARY DOUL -- [puzzled at joy of his voice.] -- If you'd anything
but lies to say you'd be talking to yourself.

MARTIN DOUL -- [bursting with excitement.] -- I've this to say,
Mary Doul. I'll be letting my beard grow in a short while, a
beautiful, long, white, silken, streamy beard, you wouldn't see
the like of in the eastern world. . . . Ah, a white beard's a
grand thing on an old man, a grand thing for making the quality
stop and be stretching out their hands with good silver or gold,
and a beard's a thing you'll never have, so you may be holding
your tongue.

MARY DOUL -- [laughing cheerfully.] -- Well, we're a great pair,
surely, and it's great times we'll have yet, maybe, and great