Clara. I’ll run my best, never fear. [She goes out.
[Luke Jenner comes in, a bunch of homely flowers in his hand.
Joan. [Seating herself.] You are early this morning, Mister Jenner.
Luke. [Sitting opposite to her.] I have that to say which would not bide till sunset, Miss Clara.
Joan. Indeed, Mister Jenner. I wonder what that can be.
Luke. ’Tis just like this, Miss Clara. The day I first heard as you was coming down here—“I could do with a rich wife if so be as I could win her,” I did tell myself.
Joan. O, Mister Jenner, now did you really?
Luke. But when I met you in the wood—saw you sitting there, so still and yet so bright, so fine and yet so homely. “That’s the maid for me,” I says to myself.
Joan. [Tearfully.] O, Mister Jenner!
Luke. And if it had been beggar’s rags upon her in the place of satin, I’d have said the same.