Baldwin.
I arst you, mum, would it be playin’ fair on the young gentleman?
Lady Patricia.
(Edging rather nervously away from him.) I think you had better go home now, Baldwin. I am afraid you are not quite well. Tell Mrs. Baldwin to come and see me to-morrow.
Baldwin.
Yes’m.
(Lady Patricia goes out on the left, throwing a nervous look back at Baldwin, who nods his head triumphantly and pulls up the lantern. Clare emerges from behind the trunk and tiptoes towards him.)
Baldwin.
Whoa!