ROBIN. [_Who has been watching_ JOAN.] Why does Aunt sometimes put her knife in her mouth, Mother? MILES. My good boy, ’tis plain you’ve never mixed among the quality or you would know that each London season has its own new fashion of acting. This summer ’tis the stylish thing to put on a countryfied mode at table. JESSIE. Joan don’t eat like that, Mister Hooper. MILES. Joan’s only a maid servant, Miss Jessie. You should learn to distinguish between such people and fine ladles like your aunt. JOAN. [_Forcing herself to be more animated_.] Give me some fruit, Miles—I have no appetite to-day for heavy food. ’Tis far too warm. MILES. As for me, the only food I require is the sweet honey of my Missy’s voice. THOMAS. Ah, ’tis a grand thing to be a young man, Miles Hooper. There was a day when such things did come handy to my tongue, like. EMILY. [_Sharply_.] I don’t seem to remember that day, Thomas. THOMAS. [_Sheepishly_, _his look falling_.] Ah—’twas afore—afore our courting time, Emily. LUKE. [_Energetically_.] Prime weather for the hay, farmer. I count as this dry will last until the whole of it be carried. [_A knock is heard at the door_. THOMAS. Now who’ll that be? Did you see anyone a-coming up the path, Mother? EMILY. Do you expect me to be carving of the fowls and a-looking out of the window the same time, Thomas? THOMAS. George, my lad, do you open the door and see who ’tis. [JOAN _looks anxiously across the table at_ CLARA. _Then she drops her spoon and fork and takes up her fan_, _using it violently whilst_ GEORGE _slowly gets up and opens the door_. LORD LOVEL _is seen standing on the threshold_. LORD LOVEL. [_To_ GEORGE.] Kindly tell me, my man, is this the farm they call Ox Lease? GEORGE. Ah, that’s right enough. LORD LOVEL. I’m sorry to break in upon a party like this, but I want to see Miss Clara Spring if she is here. THOMAS. [_Standing up_.] You’ve come at the very moment, master. This be a giving in marriage supper. And ’tis Miss Clara, what’s only sister to me, as is to be wed. LORD LOVEL. Impossible, my good sir! THOMAS. Ah, that’s it. Miles Hooper, he’s the happy man. If you be come by Painswick High Street you’ll have seen his name up over the shop door. LORD LOVEL. Miss Clara—Miles Hooper—No, I can’t believe it. THOMAS. [_Pointing towards_ JOAN _and_ MILES.] There they be—the both of them. Turtle doves on the same branch. You’re right welcome, master, to sit down along of we as one of the family on this occasion. LORD LOVEL. [_Looking at_ JOAN _who has suddenly dropped her fan and is leaning back with a look of supplication towards_ CLARA.] I must have come to the wrong place—that’s not the Miss Clara Spring I know. MILES. [_Bending over_ JOAN.] My sweet Missy has no acquaintance with this gentleman, I am sure.