(Mrs. Benn is deeply moved by the vision thus conjured up. In a sort of golden haze she gets the bread and adds another spoonful of tea to the pot, and lights the oil lamp.)
Mrs. Benn.—She's a wonderful little kid if I do s'y it. Dances like a fairy.
Benn (gallantly).—She's got a wonderful mother and I don't care who 'ears me s'y it.
Mrs. Benn.—Silly! (She feels in her pocket and produces a nice large orange.) 'Ere's a orange Mrs. Horning gave me for 'er. I'll put it where she'll see it first thing when she comes 'ome. (She lays the orange on the window sill. At the same instant she sees Linton's name scrawled on the foggy pane.) Wot's that mean? That nime on the pine! 'E's been 'ere again. Didn't I tell you? Didn't I tell 'im? What do you think I'm made of? Putty? When was he 'ere?
