[A GIRL sits crouched over her knees on a stile close to a river. A MAN with a silver badge stands beside her, clutching the worn top plank. THE GIRL'S level brows are drawn together; her eyes see her memories. THE MAN'S eyes see THE GIRL; he has a dark, twisted face. The bright sun shines; the quiet river flows, the cuckoo is calling; the mayflower is in bloom along the hedge that ends in the stile on the towing-path.]
THE GIRL: God knows what 'e'll say, Jim.
THE MAN: Let 'im. 'E's come too late, that's all.
THE GIRL: He couldn't come before. I'm frightened. 'E was fond o' me.
THE MAN: And aren't I fond of you?
THE GIRL: I ought to a' waited, Jim; with 'im in the fightin'.
THE MAN: [Passionately] And what about me? Aren't I been in the fightin'--earned all I could get?
THE GIRL: [Touching him] Ah!
THE MAN: Did you----?
[He cannot speak the words.]
THE GIRL: Not like you, Jim--not like you.
THE MAN: Have a spirit, then.
THE GIRL: I promised him.