[She perceives her cotton bonnet and little shawl on the ground.  She hastily rolls them up in a small bundle and stuffs them into the silken bag.  Then she takes up the glass and surveys herself again.

Joan.  How should I act now if some grand gentleman was to come up and commence talking to me?  Perhaps he might even take me for a lady of title in these fine clothes, and ’twould be a pity to have to undeceive him.

[She arranges her hair a little under the bonnet and then lowers the lace veil over her face.

[Miles and Luke come slowly up behind her.  Miles nudges Luke with his elbow, signing to him to remain where he is whilst he steps forward in front of Joan.

Miles.  Pardon me, madam, but you appear to have mistook the way.  Allow me to set you on the right path for Ox Lease.

Joan. [Letting the mirror fall on her lap and speaking very low.] How do you know I am going to Ox Lease, sir?

Miles.  You see, madam, I happen to know that a stylish young miss from town is expected there to-day.

Luke. [Coming forward and speaking in a loud whisper.] Now Miles.  I count as you made one of the biggest blunders of the time.  Our young lady be journeying along of her servant wench.  This one baint she.

Miles.  If we have made a small error, madam, allow me to beg your pardon.

Joan.  Don’t mention it, sir.  Everyone is mistaken sometimes.

Luke.  Well, I’m powerful sorry if we have given any offence, mam.

Joan. [Looking up at Luke with sudden boldness and speaking in a slow, affected voice.] There’s nothing to make so much trouble about, sir.

Miles.  Can we be of any assistance to you, madam?  The wood may appear rather dense at this point.

Joan.  That it does.  Dense and dark—­and the pathway!  My goodness, but my feet have never travelled over such rough ground before.

Muss.  That I am sure of, madam.  I have no doubt that the delicate texture of your shoes has been sadly treated by our stones and ruts.

Joan. [Insensibly pulling her skirts over her thick walking shoes.] Well, it’s vastly different to London streets, where I generally take exercise—­at least when I’m not a-riding in the coach.

Miles.  The country is but a sad place at the best, Miss Clara Spring.

Joan. [Looking round furtively and speaking in a whisper.] O, how did you guess my—­my name?

Luke.  Come, ’twasn’t a hard matter, that.

Miles.  Missey can command my services.

Joan. [Rallying, and standing up.] Then gentlemen, do you walk a bit of the road with me and we could enjoy some conversation as we go along.

Luke. [Offering his arm.] You take my arm, Miss Clara—­do—.