Vavasour [shaking his head and looking very white]. Nay, I'm no feelin' well.
Mrs. Morgan. Aye, I see ye're ill?
Vavasour. Well, I'm not ill, but I'm not well. Not well at all, Mrs. Morgan.
Mrs. Morgan. We'll miss ye, but I must hurryin' on whatever; I'm late now. Good-night!
Vavasour [speaking drearily]. Good-night! [He closes the door and returns to the settle, where he sits down by the pile of peat and drops his head in his hand. Then he starts up nervously for no apparent cause and opens one of the lattice windows. With an exclamation of fear, he slams it to and throws his weight against the door. Calling and holding hard to the door.] Ye've no cause to come here! Ye old death's head, get away! [Outside there is loud pounding on the door and a voice shouting for admittance. Vavasour is obliged to fall back as the door is gradually forced open, and a head is thrust in, a white handkerchief tied over it.]
Howell Howell [seeing the terror-stricken face of Vavasour]. Well, man, what ails ye; did ye think I was a ghost? [Howell Howell, the Milliner, in highlows and a plum-colored coat, a handkerchief on his hat, enters, stamping off the rain and closing the door. He carefully wipes off his plum-colored sleeves and speaks indignantly.] Well, man, are ye crazy, keepin' me out in the rain that way? Where's Catherine?
Vavasour [stammering]. She's at P-p-p-ally Hughes's.
Howell Howell. Are ye no goin'?
Vavasour. Nay, Howell Howell, I'm no goin'.
Howell Howell. An' dressed in your best? What's the matter? Have ye been drinkin' whatever?