Joan. I’m afeared I’ve not much of a memory.
Thomas. Shake hands, my maid, and very like as the memory will come back to roost same as the fowls do.
Joan. [Bowing coldly.] Good afternoon, George.
Miles. [Aside to Luke.] Now that’s what I call a bit of stylish breeding.
[George has made no answer to Joan’s bow. He quietly ignores it, and takes up his pail of water. As he does so he catches sight of Clara, who has been watching the whole scene from the corner where she is partly concealed. He looks at her for one moment, and then sets the bucket down again.
Thomas. Why, George—I guess as it’s took you as it took me, us didn’t think how ’twould appear when Miss Clara was growed up.
George. [Quietly.] No, us did not, master.
[He carries his pail into the back kitchen as Emily and the children come in.
Emily. What’s all this to-do in my kitchen, I should like to know?
Thomas. Us did but come up for to—to give a handshake to sister Clara, like.