Joan. [Forcing herself to be more animated.] Give me some fruit, Miles—I have no appetite to-day for heavy food. ’Tis far too warm.
Miles. As for me, the only food I require is the sweet honey of my Missy’s voice.
Thomas. Ah, ’tis a grand thing to be a young man, Miles Hooper. There was a day when such things did come handy to my tongue, like.
Emily. [Sharply.] I don’t seem to remember that day, Thomas.
Thomas. [Sheepishly, his look falling.] Ah—’twas afore—afore our courting time, Emily.
Luke. [Energetically.] Prime weather for the hay, farmer. I count as this dry will last until the whole of it be carried. [A knock is heard at the door.
Thomas. Now who’ll that be? Did you see anyone a-coming up the path, Mother?
Emily. Do you expect me to be carving of the fowls and a-looking out of the window the same time, Thomas?
Thomas. George, my lad, do you open the door and see who ’tis.
[Joan looks anxiously across the table at Clara. Then she drops her spoon and fork and takes up her fan, using it violently whilst George slowly gets up and opens the door. Lord Lovel is seen standing on the threshold.