Susan. [Starting up and speaking passionately.] I’ll not be taunted for my dancing—I likes to dance wild, and leap with my body when my spirit leaps, and fly with my limbs when my heart flies and move in the air same as the birds do move when ’tis mating time.
Grandmother. Ah, ’tis so with she. She baint no tame mouse what creeps from its hole along of t’others and who do go shuffle shuffle, in and out of the ring, mild as milk and naught in the innards of they but the squeak.
Susan. [Defiantly.] ’Twas my dance gained his lordship’s praise—so there, fine madam.
Lady Millicent. Your dance? Who are you then?
Alice. A gipsy wench, mistress, who minds the goats and pigs for one of they great farms.
Grandmother. Have a care for that tongue of yours, madam waiting maid. For I know how to lay sommat upon it what you won’t fancy.
Lady Millicent. [Coming up to Susan and laying her hand on her arm.] Now tell me your name, my girl.
Susan. They call me Princess Royal.
Lady Millicent. O that must be in jest. Why, you are clothed in rags, poor thing.
Susan. [Shaking herself free.] I’d sooner wear my own rags nor the laces which you have got upon you.