Mrs Warren.  Well, George, what do you think of her?

Crofts [ruefully] She has a powerful fist.  Did you shake hands with her,
Praed?

Praed. Yes:  it will pass off presently.

Crofts.  I hope so. [Vivie reappears with two more chairs.  He hurries to her assistance].  Allow me.

Mrs Warren [patronizingly] Let Sir George help you with the chairs, dear.

Vivie [pitching them into his arms] Here you are. [She dusts her hands and turns to Mrs Warren].  Youd like some tea, wouldn’t you?

Mrs Warren [sitting in Praed’s chair and fanning herself] I’m dying for a drop to drink.

Vivie.  I’ll see about it. [She goes into the cottage].

[Sir George has by this time managed to unfold a chair and plant it by Mrs Warren, on her left.  He throws the other on the grass and sits down, looking dejected and rather foolish, with the handle of his stick in his mouth.  Praed, still very uneasy, fidgets around the garden on their right.]

Mrs Warren [to Praed, looking at Crofts] Just look at him, Praddy:  he looks cheerful, don’t he?  He’s been worrying my life out these three years to have that little girl of mine shewn to him; and now that Ive done it, he’s quite out of countenance. [Briskly] Come! sit up, George; and take your stick out of your mouth. [Crofts sulkily obeys].

Praed. I think, you know—­if you don’t mind my saying so—­that we had better get out of the habit of thinking of her as a little girl.  You see she has really distinguished herself; and I’m not sure, from what I have seen of her, that she is not older than any of us.

Mrs Warren [greatly amused] Only listen to him, George!  Older than any of us!  Well she has been stuffing you nicely with her importance.

Praed. But young people are particularly sensitive about being treated in that way.

Mrs Warren.  Yes; and young people have to get all that nonsense taken out of them, and good deal more besides.  Don’t you interfere, Praddy:  I know how to treat my own child as well as you do. [Praed, with a grave shake of his head, walks up the garden with his hands behind his back.  Mrs Warren pretends to laugh, but looks after him with perceptible concern.  Then, she whispers to Crofts] Whats the matter with him?  What does he take it like that for?

Crofts [morosely] Youre afraid of Praed.

Mrs Warren.  What!  Me!  Afraid of dear old Praddy!  Why, a fly wouldn’t be afraid of him.

Crofts. You’re afraid of him.

Mrs Warren [angry] I’ll trouble you to mind your own business, and not try any of your sulks on me.  I’m not afraid of y o u, anyhow.  If you can’t make yourself agreeable, youd better go home. [She gets up, and, turning her back on him, finds herself face to face with Praed].  Come, Praddy, I know it was only your tender-heartedness.  Youre afraid I’ll bully her.