JACKSON having bowed and withdrawn, LADY CHESHIRE rises with
worked signs of nervousness, which she has only just suppressed,
when ROSE TAYLOR, a stolid country girl, comes in and stands
waiting by the door.

LADY CHESHIRE. Well, Rose. Do come in!
[ROSE advances perhaps a couple of steps.]

LADY CHESHIRE. I just wondered whether you'd like to ask my advice.
Your engagement with Dunning's broken off, isn't it?

ROSE. Yes--but I've told him he's got to marry me.

LADY CHESHIRE. I see! And you think that'll be the wisest thing?

ROSE. [Stolidly] I don't know, my lady. He's got to.

LADY CHESHIRE. I do hope you're a little fond of him still.

ROSE. I'm not. He don't deserve it.

LADY CHESHIRE: And--do you think he's quite lost his affection for
you?

ROSE. I suppose so, else he wouldn't treat me as he's done. He's
after that--that--He didn't ought to treat me as if I was dead.

LADY CHESHIRE. No, no--of course. But you will think it all well
over, won't you?

ROSE. I've a--got nothing to think over, except what I know of.

LADY CHESHIRE. But for you both t0 marry in that spirit! You know
it's for life, Rose. [Looking into her face] I'm always ready to
help you.

ROSE. [Dropping a very slight curtsey] Thank you, my lady, but I
think he ought to marry me. I've told him he ought.

LADY CHESHIRE. [Sighing] Well, that's all I wanted to say. It's a
question of your self-respect; I can't give you any real advice. But
just remember that if you want a friend----

ROSE. [With a gulp] I'm not so 'ard, really. I only want him to do
what's right by me.

LADY CHESHIRE. [With a little lift of her eyebrow--gently] Yes,
yes--I see.

ROSE. [Glancing back at the door] I don't like meeting the servants.

LADY CHESHIRE. Come along, I'll take you out another way. [As they
reach the door, DOT comes in.]

DOT. [With a glance at ROSE] Can we have this room for the mouldy
rehearsal, Mother?

LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, dear, you can air it here.

Holding the door open for ROSE she follows her out. And DOT,
with a book of "Caste" in her hand, arranges the room according
to a diagram.

DOT. Chair--chair--table--chair--Dash! Table--piano--fire--window!
[Producing a pocket comb] Comb for Eccles. Cradle?--Cradle--[She
viciously dumps a waste-paper basket down, and drops a footstool into
it] Brat! [Then reading from the book gloomily] "Enter Eccles