Jim:
The brat’s no brat
Of mine, Phœbe, I swear ...
(He stops in confusion, dropping his eyes. Phœbe turns from him, lays one hand on the latch and the other on Judith’s arm.)
Phœbe:
Come, lass, it’s time
We were getting home.
Judith:
We?
Phœbe:
Ay, unless you’d stay?
You’ve the right.
Judith: