WILLIE. Ada does.
MAGGIE. And that gives me the weight of her. She's born to
meekness, Ada is. You wed her, and you'll be an eighteen shilling
a week bootmaker all the days of your life. You'll be a slave,
and a contented slave.
WILLIE. I'm not ambitious that I know of.
MAGGIE. No. But you're going to be. I'll see to that. I've got my
work cut out, but there's the makings of a man about you.
WILLIE. I wish you'd leave me alone. (_Sits_ R.)
MAGGIE. So does the fly when the spider catches him. You're my
man, Willie Mossop. (_Moves to desk_.)
WILLIE. Aye, so you say. Ada would tell another story, though.
(ADA FIGGINS _enters from street. She is not ridiculous, but a
weak, poor-blooded, poor-spirited girl of twenty, in clogs and
shawl, with_ WILLIE'S _dinner in a basin carried in a blue
handkerchief. She crosses to him and gives him the basin_.)
ADA (C.). There's your dinner, Will.
WILLIE. Thank you, Ada. (_Rises_.)
(_She turns to go, and finds_ MAGGIE _in her way_.)
MAGGIE. I want a word with you. You're treading on my foot, young
woman.
ADA. Me, Miss Hobson? (_She looks stupidly at_ MAGGIE'S
_feet_.)
MAGGIE. What's this with you and him?
ADA (_gushing_). Oh, Miss 'Obson, it is good of you to
take notice like that.
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