s. Bradmere's cumin' from the Rectory. I
ran an' told 'em. Oh! 'twas awful.

[STRANGWAY starts, stares at her, and turning on his heel, goes
into the house. Ivy's face is all puckered, as if she were on
the point of tears. There is a gentle scratching at the door,
which has not been quite closed.]

VOICE OF GLADYS. [Whispering] Ivy! Come on Ivy. I won't.

VOICE OF MERCY. Yu must. Us can't du without Yu.

Ivy. [Going to the door] I don't want to.

VOICE of GLADYS. "Naughty maid, she won't come out," Ah! du 'ee!

VOICE OF CREMER. Tim Clyst an' Bobbie's cumin'; us'll only be six
anyway. Us can't dance "figure of eight" without yu.

Ivy. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to dance at all! I don't.

MERCY. Aw! She's temper. Yu can bang on tambourine, then!

GLADYS. [Running in] Quick, Ivy! Here's the old grey mare cumin'
down the green. Quick.

[With whispering and scuffling; gurgling and squeaking, the
reluctant Ivy's hand is caught and she is jerked away. In their
haste they have left the door open behind them.]

VOICE of MRS. BRADMERE. [Outside] Who's that?

[She knocks loudly, and rings a bell; then, without waiting,
comes in through the open door.]

[Noting the overcoat and hat on the window-sill she moves across
to ring the bell. But as she does so, MRS. BURLACOMBE, followed
by BURLACOMBE, comes in from the house.]

MRS. BRADMERE This disgraceful business! Where's Mr. Strangway? I
see he's in.

MRS. BURLACOMBE. Yes, m'm, he'm in--but--but Burlacombe du zay he'm
terrible upset.

MRS. BRADMERE. I should think so. I must see him--at once.

MRS. BURLACOMBE. I doubt bed's the best place for 'un, an' gude 'ot
drink. Burlacombe zays he'm like a man standin' on the edge of a
cliff; and the lasts tipsy o' wind might throw un over.

MRS. BRADMERE. [To BURLACOMBE] You've seen him, then?

BURLACOMBE. Yeas; an' I don't like the luke of un--not a little bit,
I don't.

MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Almost to herself] Poor soul; 'e've a-'ad to
much to try un this yer long time past. I've a-seen 'tis sperrit
cumin' thru 'is body, as yu might zay. He's torn to bits, that's
what 'tis.

BURLACOMBE. 'Twas a praaper cowardly thing to hiss a man when he's
down. But 'twas natural tu, in a manner of spakin'. But 'tesn't
that troublin' 'im. 'Tes in here [touching his forehead], along of
his wife, to my thinkin'. They zay '