Julia.  Not here?  Very well, my friends, let us go further into the wood and you shall stretch yourselves under the green trees and we will all rest there together.

Laura.  Well, what next!  You might stop to consider how ’twill look in the parish.

Julia.  How what will look?

Laura.  How ’twill look for you to be seen going off in such company like this.

Julia.  The trees have not eyes, nor have the grass, and flowers.  There’s no one to see me but you, and you can turn your head t’other way.  Come Tansie, come

Chris. [She turns towards the three gipsies.

Tansie.  Nat’s in a sorry way, this morning—­baint you, Nat?

Nat.  Let I be.  You do torment anyone till they scarce do know if they has senses to them or no.

Tansie.  You’re not one to miss what you never had, Nat.

Chris. Let the lad bide in quiet, will you.  ’Tis a powerful little nagging wench as you be.

Julia.  Why are you heavy and sad this fine day, Nat?

Tansie.  ’Tis love what’s the matter with he, mistress.

Julia.  Love?  O, that’s not a thing that should bring heaviness or gloom, but lightness to the heart, and song to the lips.

Tansie.  Ah, but when there’s been no meeting in the dusk since
Sunday, and no message sent!

Chris. Keep that tongue of your’n where it should be, and give over,
Tansie.  Susan’s not one as would play tricks with her lad.

Julia.  Now I have a thirst to hear all about this, Nat, so come off further into the wood, all of you, where we can speak in quiet.

[She holds out her hand to Nat.

Laura.  Upon my word, but something must be done to bring these goings on to an end.

Julia.  Come, Nat—­you shall tell me all your trouble.  I understand the things of the heart better than Tansie, and I shall know how to give you comfort in your distress—­come

[Julia and Nat, followed by Chris and Tansie, move off out of sight.  Laura is left sitting on the bench alone.  Presently John comes out carefully from behind the bushes, holding his bunch of flowers.

John.  A good day to you, mistress.

Laura.  The same to you, master.

John.  Folks do call me John.

Laura.  Indeed?  Good morning, John.

John.  A fine brave sun to-day, mistress.

Laura.  But pleasant enough here in the shade.

John.  Now, begging your pardon, but what you wants over the head of you baint one of these great trees full of flies and insects, but an arbour trailed all about with bloom, such as my master has down at his place yonder.

Laura.  Indeed?  And who may your master be, John?