A deal
Of difference that's made!

JUDITH:
More than you can guess.

BELL:
Peter stuck longer, tangled in the brambles.

JUDITH:
I loved Jim; so, I trusted him.

BELL:
But when
You found him out?

JUDITH:
If you had loved, you'd ken
That finding out makes little difference.
There are things in this life you don't understand,
For all your ready tongue.

BELL:
Ay: men and women
I've given up--just senseless marionettes,
Jigging and bobbing to the twitching strings:
Though I like to fancy I pick my steps, and choose
The tunes I dance to; happen, that's my pride;
But, choose or not, we've got to pay the piper.

JUDITH:
Ay: in your pride, you think you've the best of life.
You're missing more than you reckon, the best of all.

BELL:
Well, I've no turn for penal servitude.
But, have you never gabbed to keep your heart up?
What are hats for, if not for talking through?
Pride--we've both pride; yours, hot and fierce, and mine
Careless and cold: yet, both came the same cropper--
Not quite ... for you were hurt to death almost:
While I picked myself up, scatheless; not a scratch;
Only my skirt torn; and it always draggled.

JUDITH:
You never cared: I couldn't have borne myself,
If I'd not cared: I'd hate myself as much
As I've hated Jim, whiles, when I thought of all.
They're mixter-maxter, hate and love: and, often,
I've wondered if I loathed, or loved, Jim most.
I understand as little as you, it seems:
Yet, it's only caring counts for anything
In this life; though it's caring's broken me.

BELL:
It stiffens some. But, why take accidents
So bitterly? It's all a rough-and-tumble
Of accidents, from the accident of birth
To the last accident that lays us out--
A go-as-you-please, and the devil take the hindmost.
It's pluck that counts, and an easy seat in the saddle:
Better to break your neck at the first ditch,
Than waste the day in seeking gates to slip through:
Cold-blooded crawlers I've no sort of use for.
You took the leap, and landed in the quickset:
But, at least, you leapt sky-high, before you tumbled:
And it's silly to lie moaning in the prickles:
Best pick yourself up sharp, and shake the thorns out,
Else the following hoofs will bash you. Give life leave
To break your heart, 'twill trample you ...

JUDITH:
Leave, say you?
Life takes French-leav