STRANGWAY. [With a smile] Yes, Mercy; and what is a Christian?
MERCY kicks afoot, sideways against her neighbour, frowns over her china-blare eyes, is silent; then, as his question passes on, makes a quick little face, wriggles, and looks behind her.
STRANGWAY. Ivy?
IVY. 'Tis a man—whu—whu——
STRANGWAY. Yes?—Connie?
CONNIE. [Who speaks rather thickly, as if she had a permanent slight cold] Please, Mr. Strangway, 'tis a man what goes to church.
GLADYS. He 'as to be baptised—and confirmed; and—and—buried.
IVY. 'Tis a man whu—whu's gude and——
GLADYS. He don't drink, an' he don't beat his horses, an' he don't hit back.
MERCY. [Whispering] 'Tisn't your turn. [To STRANGWAY] 'Tis a man like us.