MRS. R. (l.) What, Colonel Dexter’s darter, oop at Lucott’s Hill? Oh, yes, her’d be a fine un to make the butter and cure the hams, her would. Her be loike them umbrellas they be a selling at Peter’s for 1s. 11d.—only meant to be walked out wi’. (Near press l.)
DEB. Ah, but she’s so beautiful, aunt, and she’s a lady! (Sighs.)
MRS. R. Ah! (goes to table r. c.) there be a good many sorts o’ them.
DEB. She is a lady, isn’t she, aunt?
MRS. R. Her’s got the clothes all right. (Sits l. of table r. A pause—goes up and pats Deborah’s cheek.)
As if thee didn’t know the lad were in love with theeself.
DEB. (Tossing her head.) Sure an’ I don’t see how I should—he never says anything.
MRS. R. Ah, the men bain’t much to say for their-selves, poor things. Thee must go by what they does. Why, thee uncle kept company wi’ me for three years, an’ un never said a word. The first year un only sot and stared, and the second year un put un’s arm round my waist, and the third year un kissed me, and then mother said it were time to put up the banns, and her done it.
DEB. (Laughs.) Ah, the man that wants to marry me will have to ask me ever and ever so many times and plead, oh, as if his life depended on it (tossing her head—at fire.)
MRS. R. Ah, the lad be shy, that be all. He be frightened ’o thee.