{Gil.} Humbly, then, as an old servant, I ask you to consider what this Mr. Thorndyke really is. {Kate.} _(coldly)_ A gentleman and a soldier. {Gil.} Not a gentleman, because he's a soldier-- what does he do here? _(pause)_ {Kate.} We are friends. {Gil.} They don't say that in the parlour of the White Lion. {Kate.} Oh! Do they dare--? {Gil.} Oh, yes, they dare. {Kate.} The idlers in a pot-house malign the woman out of whose land they get the very crust they eat. _(covers her face with her hands and sits on garden seat)_ How hard! How cruel! {Gil.} _(earnestly)_ I have stopped their tongues when I have been by. I have always said-- {Kate.} _(raising her head)_ You, Mr. Hythe? Thank you. In the future don't meddle with their legitimate pleasures, _(laughing with pain)_ They've so little to amuse them. How selfish I am! _(the bell rings)_ Who is that? _(The Rev. Paul Dormer appears in the archway from L., He is a dark-browed man, about forty, but with white hair; he is attired as a clergyman, but his dress is rusty, shabby, and slovenly; he carries a heavy stick.)_ {Gil.} _(surprised)_ Parson Dormer! _(going up C.)_ {Kate.} _(rising)_ Mr. Dormer! _(Dor. comes down, meeting Gil.)_ {Dormer.} _(to Gil. roughly)_ You're Gilbert Hythe, I think. {Gil.} You think aright--I am. {Dormer.} Can you carry a basket? {Gil.} Where to? {Dormer.} To the White Lion! {Gil.} What for? {Dormer.} For the sake of a sick woman. {Gil.} I can carry a basket to the White Lion. {Dormer.} _(gruffly)_ Thank you. {Gil.} _(looking at Dor.)_ For the sake of a sick woman? {Dormer.} _(turning away)_ Ah! {Gil.} _(to Kate.)_ Call me when I'm wanted, Squire. I'm going to say good-bye to the dog. _(Goes off through archway to R., Dor. sits R., of table.)_ {Kate.} _(L. C.)_ If your business is with Gilbert Hythe, you can dispense with the mistress of the house, Mr. Dormer, _(about to go)_ {Dormer.} No, I want you, too. {Kate.} Really, parson--you haven't shown face at The Priors since father died, two years ago; you don't say "How do you do?" to John Verity's daughter; and you don't say "Good-day" to the nearest approach to a Squire that your parish can boast. The one omission is rude--the other impolitic. {Dormer.} I didn't like your father--you resemble him in face and manner. {Kate.} My father didn't like you. _(she holds out her hand, going to him)_ How are you, parson? What can I do for you? _(He looks at her, takes her hand sulkily.)_ {Dormer.} Fill a basket with food, fit for an invalid, and send your man with it to Market-Sinfield. {Kate.} _(calling)_ Christie! _(to Dor.)_ A woman manages the White Lion, I think.