CLARA. [_Rising_.] That is a pity, Joan. But see, it is getting late and we must be moving onwards. [JOAN _rises and smoothes and shakes out her skirt_. CLARA. Here, loosen my cloak, Joan, and untie the ribbons of my bonnet. JOAN. O mistress, keep the pretty clothes upon you till you have got to the house. CLARA. No, no—such town garments are not suited to the woods and meadows. I want to feel the country breeze upon my head, and my limbs must be free from the weight of the cloak. I had these things upon me during the coach journey. They are filled with road dust and I dislike them now. JOAN. [_Unfastening the cloak and untying the bonnet_.] They are fresh and bright for I brushed and shook them myself this morning. CLARA. [_Retying a blue ribbon which she wears in her hair_.] I have taken a dislike to them. See here, Joan, since you admire them, they shall be yours. JOAN. Mine? The French bonnet and the satin cloak? CLARA. To comfort you for the pains of the country, Joan. JOAN. O mistress, let us stop a moment longer in this quiet place so that I may slip them on and see how they become me. CLARA. As you will. Listen, that is the cuckoo singing. JOAN. [_Throwing off her cotton bonnet and shawl and dressing herself hastily in the bonnet and cloak_.] O what must it feel like to be a grand lady and wear such things from dawn to bed time. CLARA. I am very glad to be without them for a while. How good the air feels on my head. JOAN. There, mistress, how do I look? CLARA. Very nicely, Joan. So nicely that if you like, you may keep them upon you for the remainder of the way. JOAN. O mistress, may I really do so? CLARA. Yes. And Joan, do you go onwards to the farm by the quickest path which is through this wood and across the high road. Anyone will shew you where the place is. I have a mind to wander about in some of the meadows which I remember. But I will join you all in good time. JOAN. Very well, mistress. If I set off in a few moments it will do, I suppose? I should just like to take a peep at myself as I am now, in the little glass which you carry in your silk bag. CLARA. [_Going off_.] Don’t spend too much time looking at what will be shewn you, Joan. JOAN. Never fear, mistress. I’ll be there afore you, if I have to run all the way. [CLARA _wanders off_. [JOAN _sits down again on the trunk of the fallen tree_. _She opens the silken bag_, _draws out a small hand glass and looks long and steadily at her own reflection_. _Then she glances furtively around and_, _seeing that she is quite alone_, _she takes a small powder box from the bag and hastily opening it_, _she gives her face several hurried touches with the powder puff_.