The Squire.  Challenger?  Sounds like a hound.  What’s he like?

Jarvis. [Scratching his head] Wears a soft ’at, sir.

The Squire.  H’m!  Ah!

Jarvis.  Very nice gentleman, very nice lady.  ’Elped me with my old mare when she ’ad the ’ighsteria last week—­couldn’t ‘a’ been kinder if they’d ‘a’ been angels from ‘eaven.  Wonderful fond o’ dumb animals, the two of ’em.  I don’t pay no attention to gossip, meself.

Maud.  Gossip?  What gossip?

Jarvis. [Backing] Did I make use of the word, m’m?  You’ll excuse me, I’m sure.  There’s always talk where there’s newcomers.  I takes people as I finds ’em.

The Rector.  Yes, yes, Jarvis—­quite—­quite right!

Jarvis.  Yes, sir.  I’ve—­I’ve got a ‘abit that way at my time o’ life.

Maud. [Sharply] How long have they been here, Jarvis?

Jarvis.  Well—–­er—­a matter of three weeks, m’m.

     [A slight involuntary stir.]

[Apologetic] Of course, in my profession I can’t afford to take notice of whether there’s the trifle of a ring between ’em, as the sayin’ is.  ’Tisn’t ’ardly my business like.

     [A silence.]

Lady Ella. [Suddenly] Er—­thank you, Jarvis; you needn’t wait.

Jarvis.  No, m’lady.  Your service, sir—­service, m’m.

     [He goes.  A silence.]

The Squire. [Drawing a little closer] Three weeks?  I say—­er—­ wasn’t there a book?

The Rector. [Abstracted] Three weeks——­I certainly haven’t seen them in church.

Maud.  A trifle of a ring!

Lady Ella. [Impulsively] Oh, bother!  I’m sure she’s all right. 
And if she isn’t, I don’t care.  She’s been much too splendid.

The Squire.  Must think of the village.  Didn’t quite like the doctor’s way of puttin’ us off.

Lady Ella.  The poor darling owes his life to her.

The Squire.  H’m!  Dash it!  Yes!  Can’t forget the way she ran into that stinkin’ pond.

Maud.  Had she a wedding-ring on?

     [They look at each other, but no one knows.]

Lady Ella.  Well, I’m not going to be ungrateful.

The Squire.  It’d be dashed awkward—­mustn’t take a false step, Ella.

The Rector.  And I’ve got his braces! [He puts his hand to his waist.]

Maud. [Warningly] Bertie!

The Squire.  That’s all right, Rector—­we’re goin’ to be perfectly polite, and—­and—­thank her, and all that.

Lady Ella.  We can see she’s a good sort.  What does it matter?

Maud.  My dear Ella!  “What does it matter!” We’ve got to know.