hurrying out to welcome the young squire home. Great rush in the
City to offer him partnerships.

PAMELA (quietly). Do you want to go back to the City?

BOB. Good God, no!

PAMELA. Then why are you being sarcastic about it? Be honest with
yourself, Bob. You made a mess of the City. Oh, I know you weren't
suited to it, but men have had to do work they didn't like before
now, and they haven't _all_ made a mess of it. You're getting your
punishment now--much more than you deserve, and we're all sorry for
you--but men have been punished unfairly before now and they have
stood it. You'll have your chance when you come back; I'll stand by
you for one, and you've plenty of other friends; but we can't help a
man who won't help himself, you know.

Bon (sulkily). Thank you, Pamela.

PAMELA (shaking him). Bob, Bob, don't be such a baby. Oh, I want to
laugh at you, and yet my heart just aches for you. You're just a
little boy, Bob (with a sigh), on the last day of his holidays.

BOB (after a pause). Are you allowed to have letters in prison?

PAMELA. I expect so. Every now and then.

BOB. You will write to me?

PAMELA. Of course, dear; whenever I may.