SARAH (raising her voice). Coom in so who tha art. Door's on latch.
(Enter the REV. FRANK ALLEYNE. He is a young curate, a Londoner and an Oxford man, by association, training, and taste totally unfitted for a Lancashire curacy, in which he is, unfortunately, no exception.)
ALLEYNE. Good afternoon, Mrs. Ormerod.
SARAH. Good day to thee.
ALLEYNE. I'm sorry to say Mr. Blundell has had to go to a missionary meeting, but he asked me to come and see you in his stead.
SARAH. Tha's welcoom, lad. Sit thee doon.
(EMMA comes below table left. Dusts a chair, which doesn't need it, with her apron. ALLEYNE raises a deprecatory hand. SARAH'S familiarity, as it seems to him, offends him. He looks sourly at EMMA and markedly ignores her.)
ALLEYNE. Thank you; no, I won't sit; I cannot stay long.
SARAH. Just as tha likes. It's all same to me.
(EMMA stays by right of table.)