Julie. And then you wanted tor die for me!

John. In the oat bin? That was mere gas.

Julie. Lies, you mean.

John. [Begins to get sleepy.] Near enough. I read the story once in the paper about a chimney-sweep who laid down in a chest full of lilac because he was ordered to take additional nourishment.

Julie. Yes—so you are

John. What other idea should I have thought of? One’s always got to capture a gal with flatteries.

Julie. Scoundrel!

John. Whore!

Julie. So I must be the first branch, must I?

John. But the branch was rotten.

Julie. I’ve got to be the notice board of the hotel, have I?

John. I’m going to be the hotel.

Julie. Sit in your office, decoy your customers, fake your bills.

John. I’ll see to that myself.

Julie. To think that a human being can be so thoroughly dirty!

John. Wash yourself clean.

Julie. Lackey! Menial! Stand up—you, when I’m speaking!

John. You wench of a menial! Hold your jaw and clear out! Is it for you to come ragging me that I’m rough? No one in my station of life could have made herself so cheap as the way you carried on to-night, my girl. Do you think that a clean-minded girl excites men in the way that you do? Have you ever seen a girl in my position offer herself in the way you did?

Julie. [Humiliated.] That’s right, strike me, trample on me! I haven’t deserved anything better. I’m a wretched woman. But help me! Help me to get away, if there’s any chance of it.