Mrs. R. (_Cross to h., putting clothes in press._) Ah! that be only his talk. The young uns be all alike. They run arter shadows like the chickens do arter chaff. (_Cross l._) Why, I mind when I wur a lass, I used to look in the glass and think I’d be a duchess. But the dook didn’t come, so I just married thee uncle. The young ducks all fancies as they’ll paddle off to the sea, But they live and dies in the old pond arter all. (_Crosses to R._) Deb. (_Laughing._) And you think that your duck will live and die in the Woodbarrow pond, aunt? (_Helps Mrs. Rollitt to fold._) Mrs. R. Ah, bless un, yes, the lads they fancy that any place is better than the old home; but arter they’ve had a good look round, they know that the old home’s better than any place else. He’ll flutter about a bit maybe (_looks at Deborah_), but he’ll settle down in the nest ‘fore long, and the children will be running about the house (_Deborah turns away a little_) and making it untidy--Bless ‘em--afore I close my eyes. Deb. (_Demurely._) I wonder who he’ll marry. Mrs. R. Ah, I wonder now. (_Crosses to put linen in chest of drawers._) Deb. (_r. folding linen._) There’s Polly Steddles. He walked home from church with her last Sunday. I think he’s a little sweet on Polly Steddles, don’t you, aunt? (_Mrs. R. comes l. of table r._) Mrs. R. Ah, it bean’t much good being a little sweet on a girl that size. It would take a power of sweetness to go round her. (_Crosses L. with linen._). Deb. She’s big, but then men like big women, don’t they, aunt? Mrs. R. (_l._) Ah, some on ’em goes in for quantity, and some on ’em goes in for quality. The little ones, they go in for size cause they bean’t much of it themselves; and the big ones goes in for sense, cause that be what they be most in need of. (_Goes R._) And Allen, he be’s medium, so he can just please himself. Deb. And there’s Miss Dexter, that he drives over to Minehead so often. (_Mrs. Rollitt goes l._) He thinks a lot of her, I know. Mrs. R. (_l._) What, Colonel Dexter’s darter, oop at Lucott’s Hill? Oh, yes, her’d be a fine un to make the butter and cure the hams, her would. Her be loike them umbrellas they be a selling at Peter’s for 1s. 11d.--only meant to be walked out wi’. (_Near press l._) Deb. Ah, but she’s so beautiful, aunt, and she’s a lady! (_Sighs._) Mrs. R. Ah! (_goes to table r. c._) there be a good many sorts o’ them. Deb. She is a lady, isn’t she, aunt? Mrs. R. Her’s got the clothes all right. (_Sits l. of table r. A pause--goes up and pats Deborah’s cheek._) As if thee didn’t know the lad were in love with theeself. Deb. (_Tossing her head._) Sure an’ I don’t see how I should--he never says anything.