Jeremy. [Impassively.] ’Tis of no account, us’ll call you William like the last one.
Isabel. O, and couldn’t I be called like the last one too?
Jeremy. Then us’ll call you Lucy. And a rare bad slut her was, and doubtless you’ll not prove much worser.
[He goes away.
Mary. This is your chance. A good chance too—
Lubin. They’ll know the both of us. Love isn’t never quite so dead but what a sound in the speech or a movement of the hand will bring some breath to it again.
Isabel. You’re right there, master—sommat’ll stir in the hearts of them when they sees we—and ’tis from the door as us’ll be chased for masking on them like this.
Mary. But not before the seeds of love have done their work. Come, Isabel; come, Lubin—I will so dress you that you shall not be recognised.
[Mary goes indoors. Isabel slowly rises and takes up her bundle. Lubin remains seated, looking gloomily before him.
Isabel. Come, think what ’twill feel to be along of our dear loves and look upon the forms of them and hear the notes of their voices once again.