Voice of mercy.  Yu must.  Us can’t du without Yu.

Ivy. [Going to the door] I don’t want to.

Voice of Gladys.  “Naughty maid, she won’t come out,” Ah! du ’ee!

Voice of Cremer.  Tim Clyst an’ Bobbie’s cumin’; us’ll only be six anyway.  Us can’t dance “figure of eight” without yu.

Ivy. [Stamping her foot] I don’t want to dance at all!  I don’t.

Mercy.  Aw!  She’s temper.  Yu can bang on tambourine, then!

Gladys. [Running in] Quick, Ivy!  Here’s the old grey mare cumin’ down the green.  Quick.

     [With whispering and scuffling; gurgling and squeaking, the
     reluctant Ivy’s hand is caught and she is jerked away.  In their
     haste they have left the door open behind them.]

Voice of Mrs. Bradmere. [Outside] Who’s that?

     [She knocks loudly, and rings a bell; then, without waiting,
     comes in through the open door.]

     [Noting the overcoat and hat on the window-sill she moves across
     to ring the bell.  But as she does so, Mrs. Burlacombe, followed
     by Burlacombe, comes in from the house.]

Mrs. Bradmere This disgraceful business!  Where’s Mr. Strangway?  I see he’s in.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  Yes, m’m, he’m in—­but—­but Burlacombe du zay he’m terrible upset.

Mrs. Bradmere.  I should think so.  I must see him—­at once.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  I doubt bed’s the best place for ‘un, an’ gude ’ot drink.  Burlacombe zays he’m like a man standin’ on the edge of a cliff; and the lasts tipsy o’ wind might throw un over.

Mrs. Bradmere. [To Burlacombe] You’ve seen him, then?

Burlacombe.  Yeas; an’ I don’t like the luke of un—­not a little bit,
I don’t.

Mrs. Burlacombe. [Almost to herself] Poor soul; ’e’ve a-’ad to much to try un this yer long time past.  I’ve a-seen ’tis sperrit cumin’ thru ’is body, as yu might zay.  He’s torn to bits, that’s what ’tis.

Burlacombe.  ’Twas a praaper cowardly thing to hiss a man when he’s down.  But ‘twas natural tu, in a manner of spakin’.  But ’tesn’t that troublin’ ’im.  ’Tes in here [touching his forehead], along of his wife, to my thinkin’.  They zay ’e’ve a-known about ’er a-fore she went away.  Think of what ’e’ve ’ad to kape in all this time.  ’Tes enough to drive a man silly after that.  I’ve a-locked my gun up.  I see a man like—­like that once before—­an’ sure enough ’e was dead in the mornin’!

Mrs. Bradmere.  Nonsense, Burlacombe! [To Mrs. Burlacombe] Go and tell him I want to see him—­must see him. [Mrs. Burlacombe goes into the house] And look here, Burlacombe; if we catch any one, man or woman, talking of this outside the village, it’ll be the end of their tenancy, whoever they may be.  Let them all know that.  I’m glad he threw that drunken fellow out of the window, though it was a little——­