Jessie. I’d sooner stop with you now, you look so much kinder, like.
Clara. [Taking Jessie’s hand and leading her to the door.] Now, Miss Jessie, your aunt must read her letter in quiet, but if you will come back presently I will have a game with you outside.
Jessie. [As she runs off.] Mother won’t let me talk with you any more, alone. She says as you’ve made a fool of Georgie and you’ll do the same by us all.
Joan. [When Jessie has run off.] There now, how did I do that, mistress?
Clara. Better, much better.
Joan. ’Tis the feeling of one thing and the speaking of another, with you ladies and gentlemen. So it appears to me.
Clara. [After a moment’s thought.] No. It is not quite like that. But ’tis, perhaps, the dressing up of an ugly feeling in better garments.
Joan. [Handing the letter to Clara.] There, mistress, ’tis yours, not mine.
Clara. [Glancing at it.] Lord Lovel’s writing. [Clara opens the letter and reads it through.] He will not wait longer for my answer. And he is coming here as fast as horses can bring him.
Joan. O, mistress, whatever shall we do?