door into the house, opens it, and listens with a sort of
stealthy casualness. He returns whistling, but not out loud.
The girl has finished taking off her stockings, and turned her
bare toes to the flames. She shuffles them back under her
skirt.]

WELLWYN. How old are you, my child?

MRS. MEGAN. Nineteen, come Candlemas.

WELLWYN. And what's your name?

MRS. MEGAN. Guinevere.

WELLWYN. What? Welsh?

MRS. MEGAN. Yes--from Battersea.

WELLWYN. And your husband?

MRS. MEGAN. No. Irish, 'e is. Notting Dale, 'e comes from.

WELLWYN. Roman Catholic?

MRS. MEGAN. Yes. My 'usband's an atheist as well.

WELLWYN. I see. [Abstractedly.] How jolly! And how old is he--this
young man of yours?

MRS. MEGAN. 'E'll be twenty soon.