LAVARCHAM.
— going left. — If I’m after vexing you itself, it’d be best you weren’t taking her hasty or scolding her at all.
CONCHUBOR.
— very stiffly. — I’ve no call to. I’m well pleased she’s light and airy.
LAVARCHAM.
— offended at his tone. — Well pleased is it? (With a snort of irony) It’s a queer thing the way the likes of me do be telling the truth, and the wise are lying all times.
[She goes into room on left. Conchubor arranges himself before a mirror for a moment, then goes a little to the left and waits. Deirdre comes in poorly dressed, with a little bag and a bundle of twigs in her arms. She is astonished for a moment when she sees Conchubor; then she makes a courtesy to him, and goes to the hearth without any embarrassment.
CONCHUBOR.
The gods save you, Deirdre. I have come up bringing you rings and jewels from Emain Macha.
DEIRDRE.
The gods save you.
CONCHUBOR.
What have you brought from the hills?
DEIRDRE.
— quite self-possessed. — A bag of nuts, and twigs for our fires at the dawn of day.
CONCHUBOR.
— showing annoyance in spite of himself. — And it’s that way you’re picking up the manners will fit you to be Queen of Ulster?
DEIRDRE.
— made a little defiant by his tone. — I have no wish to be a queen.