Harry.  In the open—­upon a beach—­on a windy night.

Bessie (Faintly).  Ah!

Harry.  They were characters, both of them, by George!  Shall I try the door?

Bessie.  Wait.  I must explain to you why it is to-morrow.

Harry.  Aye.  That you must, or...

(Window in H.’s cottage runs up.)

Capt.  H.’s Voice (Above).  A—­grinning—­information—­fellow coming to worry me in my own garden!  What next?

(Window rumbles down.)

Bessie.  Yes.  I must. (Lays hand on Harry’s sleeve.) Let’s get further off.  Nobody ever comes this way after dark.

Harry (Careless laugh).  Aye.  A good road for a walk with a girl.

(They turn their backs on audience and move up the stage slowly.  Close together.  Harry bends his head over Bessie).

Bessie’s Voice (Beginning eagerly).  People here somehow did not take kindly to him.

Harry’s Voice.  Aye.  Aye.  I understand that.

(They walk slowly back towards the front.)

Bessie.  He was almost ready to starve himself for your sake.

Harry.  And I had to starve more than once for his whim.

Bessie.  I’m afraid you’ve a hard heart. (Remains thoughtful.)

Harry.  What for?  For running away? (Indignant.) Why, he wanted to make a blamed lawyer’s clerk of me.

(From here this scene goes on mainly near and about the street lamp.)

Bessie (Rousing herself).  What are you?  A sailor?

Harry.  Anything you like. (Proudly.) Sailor enough to be worth my salt on board any craft that swims the seas.

Bessie.  He will never, never believe it.  He mustn’t be contradicted.

Harry.  Always liked to have his own way.  And you’ve been encouraging him.

Bessie (Earnestly).  No!—­not in everything—­not really!

Harry (Vexed laugh).  What about that pretty tomorrow notion?  I’ve a hungry chum in London—­waiting for me.

Bessie (Defending herself).  Why should I make the poor old friendless man miserable?  I thought you were far away.  I thought you were dead.  I didn’t know but you had never been born.  I...  I... (Harry turns to her.  She desperately.) It was easier to believe it myself. (Carried away.) And after all it’s true.  It’s come to pass.  This is the to-morrow we’ve been waiting for.

Harry (Half perfunctorily).  Aye.  Anybody can see that your heart is as soft as your voice.

Bessie (As if unable to keep back the words).  I didn’t think you would have noticed my voice.

Harry (Already inattentive).  H’m.  Dashed scrape.  This is a queer to-morrow, without any sort of today, as far as I can see. (Resolutely.) I must try the door.

Bessie.  Well—­try, then.