Lord Cullen. [Eagerly.] I seem to know that russet skirt—those bare, small feet. [Standing up quickly.] Mother, look at that maid with the red kerchief on her head.
Lady Cullen. Some sort of a gipsy dress, to all appearance.
Lord Cullen. [Doubtfully.] The skirt she wore was torn and ragged—that day in the forest. She had no gold rings to her ears, nor silken scarf upon her head—But this might be her dress for holidays.
[Jockie advances and begins to play the tune of “Princess Royal.”
Lord Cullen. [Eagerly.] That is the right music—O is it possible my quest is ended!
[Lady Millicent and Alice, standing opposite one to another begin to dance—slowly and clumsily, and in evident doubt as to their steps. Lord Cullen watches them for a moment and then claps his hands angrily as a sign for the music to stop. The dancers pause.
Lord Cullen. This is a sad mimicry of my beautiful love. But there lies something behind the masquerade which I shall probe.
[He leaves the dais and goes straight towards Lady Millicent, who turns from him in confusion.
Lord Cullen. From whom did you take the manner and the colour of your garments, my maid?
[Lady Millicent remains obstinately silent.