Emily.  And I, the mistress.  Hear that, you piece of London impudence?

George. [Comes forward.] Master Luke be coming up the garden, mistress.

[Luke Jenner enters.  He goes straight up to Joan and holds out his hand to her, and then to miles.

Luke.  I do wish you happiness with all my heart, Miss Clara.  Miles, my lad, ’tis rare—­rare pleased as I be to shake your hand this day.

Emily.  Come, come, Luke Jenner, you’ve been and kept us waiting more nor half an hour.  Can’t you sit yourself down and give other folk a chance of eating their victuals quiet?  There’s naught to make all this giddle-gaddle about as I can see.

Luke. [Sitting down in the empty place by Joan’s side.] Beg pardon, mistress, I know I’m a bit late.  But the victuals as are waited for do have a better flavour to them nor those which be ate straight from the pot like.

Thomas.  That’s true ’tis.  And ’tis hunger as do make the best sauce.

[George and Maggie quietly seat themselves on either side of Clara.  Emily is too busy dispensing the food to take any notice.  George hands plates and dishes to Clara, and silently cares for her comfort throughout the meal.

Thomas.  Well, Emily; well, Luke.  I didn’t think to lose my little sister afore she’d stopped a three days in the place.  That I did not.  But I don’t grudge her to a fine prospering young man like friend Hooper, no, I don’t.

Emily.  No one called upon you for a speech, Thomas.  See if you can’t make yourself of some use in passing the green stuff. [Turning to Luke.] We have two serving maids and a man, Mister Jenner, but they’re to be allowed to act the quality to-day, so we’ve got to wait upon ourselves.

Luke.  A man is never so well served as by his own two hands, mistress.  That’s my saying at home.

Thomas.  And a good one too, Luke, my boy, for most folk, but with me ’tis otherwise.  I’ve got another pair of hands in the place as do for me as well, nor better than my own.

Emily.  Yes, Thomas, I often wonders where you’d be without mine.

Thomas.  I wasn’t thinking of yourn, Emily.  ’Tis George’s hands as I was speaking of.

Emily. [Contemptuously.] George!  You’ll all find out your mistake one day, Thomas.

Miles. [To Joan, who has been nervously handling her knife and fork and watching Clara’s movements furtively.] My sweet Miss is not shewing any appetite.

Joan.  I’m—­I’m not used to country fare.

Emily.  O, I hear you, Clara.  Thomas, this is very fine.  Clara can’t feed ’cause she’s not used to country fare!  What next, I’d like to know!

Robin. [Who has been watching Joan.] Why does Aunt sometimes put her knife in her mouth, Mother?