Do you know, I'd like to do you some good!

ROBERT. You, miss?

MARY. Yes, wouldn't you like me to?

ROBERT. You're the on'y person in the world I'd--I'd like to see try, miss.

MARY [glad in the consciousness of "being used"]. That's because you know I'm interested in you, that I mean it, that I'm not trying to think only of myself.

ROBERT [a little stupidly]. Aren't you, miss?

MARY. No: we must always remember that there are other people in the world besides ourselves.

[This coincides with his experience: he says so.]

ROBERT. Yus, miss, there are.

MARY. Very well: now I'll see what I can do to help you.

ROBERT. Thank you, miss.

MARY. Now, don't you think, if you were really _to wish_ very hard, it would make things better for you?

ROBERT. I don't know what you mean, miss.

MARY. Well, it's like this: if you only wish very very hard, everything comes true.

ROBERT. Wot _I_ want, ain't no use wishing for!

MARY. It doesn't matter what it is! Anything you like! It will all happen!

ROBERT. Blimey, wot's the good o' talkin'?

MARY. Oh, wouldn't you like to help to spin the fairy-tale?

ROBERT [roughly], I don't believe in no fairy-tales!

MARY. I do! I don't believe there's anything else in the world, if we only knew! And that's why I'm wishing! I'm wishing now!

I'm wishing hard!

ROBERT [pa.s.sionately]. So am I, Gawd 'elp me! But it's no use!

MARY. It is! It is! What are you wishing for?

ROBERT. Never you mind! Summat as impossible as--fairy-tales!

MARY. So's mine! That's what it has to be! Mine's the most impossible thing in the world!

ROBERT. Not more than mine!

MARY. What's yours?

ROBERT. What's yours?

MARY. _I want my father_!

ROBERT. I WANT MY LITTLE KID!

[There is a second's pause.]

MARY. Your--what? . . .

ROBERT [brokenly]. My--daughter.

MARY. Oh! . . .

[She goes towards him: they face each other.]

[Softly.] Is she dead?

[He stands looking at her.]

Is she?

[He turns away from her.]

ROBERT. Fur as I am concerned--yus.

MARY. What do you mean? _Isn't_ she dead?

ROBERT. She's alive, right enough.

MARY. Perhaps--perhaps she ran away? . . .

ROBERT. She got took.

MARY. How do you mean--gypsies?

ROBERT. I _give_ 'er up. 'Ad to.

MARY. Why?

ROBERT. Look at me! . . .

_That_--an' the drink, an' the low wages, an' my ole woman dyin'!

That's why I give 'er up.

MARY. Where is she now?