Joan.  Yes, mistress, and I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you.

Clara.  Ah, I am lending myself to all this, because I, too, have something to win or lose.

Joan.  Where did you meet him, mistress?

Clara.  I did not meet him.  I stood on the high ground, and he passed below.  His face was raised to the light, and I saw its look.  I think my love for him has always lain asleep in my heart, Joan.  But when he passed beneath me in the meadow, it awoke.

Joan.  O mistress, what sort of an appearance has the gentleman?

Clara.  I don’t know how to answer you, Joan.

Joan.  I count as it would take a rare, grand looking man for to put his lordship into the shadow, like.

Clara.  You are right there, Joan.  But now we must talk of your affairs.  Your fine courtiers will be coming in presently and you must know how to receive them in a good way.

Joan.  That’s what do hamper me dreadful, my speech and other things.  How would it be if you was to help me a little bit, like?

Clara.  With all my heart.

Joan.  How should I act so not to be found out, mistress?

Clara.  You must speak little, and low.  Do not show haste in your goings and comings.  Put great care into your way of eating and drinking.

Joan.  O that will be a fearsome hard task.  What else?

Clara.  You must be sisterly with Thomas.

Joan.  I’d clean forgot him.  I don’t doubt but what he’ll ferret out the truth in no time.

Clara.  I don’t think so.  I was but a little child when I left him. 
He will not remember how I looked.  And our colouring is alike, Joan.

Joan.  ’Tis the eating and drinking as do play most heavily upon my mind, mistress.

Clara.  Then think of these words as you sit at table.  Eat as though you were not hungry and drink as though there were no such thing as thirst.  Let your hands move about your plate as if they were too tired to lift the knife and fork.

[Joan, darts to the dresser—­seizes up a plate with a knife and fork, places them on the table and sits down before them, pretending to cut up meat.  Clara watches her smilingly.

Joan. [Absently, raising the knife to her mouth.] How’s that, mistress?

Clara.  Not so, not so, Joan.  That might betray you.

Joan.  What, mistress?

Clara.  ’Tis the fork which journeys to the mouth, and the knife stops at home on the plate.

Joan. [Dispiritedly.] ’Tis almost more than I did reckon for when I started.

Clara.  Well, we mustn’t think of that now.  We must hold up our spirits, you and I.

Joan. [Getting up and putting away the crockery.] I’d best take off the bonnet and the cloak, mistress, hadn’t I?