You can’t, without being spotted: but you can hide
Behind the door, till I speak with them.
Judith:
No! No!
Not that door ... I can’t hide behind that door
Again.
Bell:
That door? Well, you ken best what’s been
Between that door and you. It’s crazy and old,
But, it looks innocent, wooden-faced humbug: yet
I don’t trust doors myself; they’ve got a knack
Of shutting me in. But you’ll be snug enough
In the other room: I’d advise you to lie down,
And rest; you’re looking trashed: and, come to think,
I’ve a deal to say to the bridegroom, before I go.
Judith:
Go?
Bell:
Quick, this way: step lively, or they’ll catch
Your skirt-tail whisking round the doorcheek.
(Bell hustles Judith into the inner room; closing the door behind her. She then thrusts the orange-coloured kerchief into her pocket; picks up the bracken, and flings it on the fire; seats herself on the settle, with her back to the door; and gazes at the blaze: not even glancing up, as Michael and Ruth enter.)