Andrew. [Sitting down on a chair a little way from her.] The Master said that I might come along to-night, Millie—­Otherwise—­[Annet is still silent.

Otherwise I shouldn’t have dared do so.

[Annet sits nervously twisting the ribbons of her cloak.

The Master said, as how may be, your feeling for me, Millie, might be changed like. [Annet is still silent.

And that if I was to ask you once more, very likely ’twould be something different as you might say.

[A long silence.

Was I wrong in coming, Millie?

Annet. [Faintly.] ’Twould have been better had you stayed away like.

Andrew.  Then there isn’t any change in your feelings towards me,
Millie?

Annet.  O, there’s a sort of a change, Andrew.

Andrew. [Slowly.] O Mill, that’s good hearing.  What sort of a change is it then?

Annet.  ’Tis very hard to say, Andrew.

Andrew.  Look you, Mill, ’tis more than a five year that I’ve been a-courting of you faithful.

Annet. [Sighing.] Indeed it is, Andrew.

Andrew.  And I’ve never got naught but blows for my pains.

Annet. [Beginning to speak in a gentle voice and ending sharply.] O
I’m so sorry—­No—­I mean—­’Tis your own fault, Andrew.

Andrew.  But I would sooner take blows from you than sweet words from another, Millie.

Annet.  I could never find it in my heart to—­I mean, ’tis as well that you should get used to blows, seeing we’re to be wed, Andrew.

Andrew.  Then ’tis to be!  O Millie, this is brave news—­Why, I do scarcely know whether I be awake or dreaming.

Annet. [Very sadly.] Very likely you’ll be glad enough to be dreaming a month from now, poor Andrew.

Andrew. [Drawing nearer.] I am brave, Millie, now that you speak to me so kind and gentle, and I’ll ask you to name the day.

Annet. [Shrinking back.] O ’twill be a very long distance from now, Andrew.

Andrew.  Millie, it seems to be your pleasure to take up my heart and play with it same as a cat does with the mouse.

Annet. [Becoming gay and hard in her manner.] Your heart, Andrew?  ’Twill go all the better afterwards if ’tis tossed about a bit first.

Andrew.  Put an end to this foolishness, Mill, and say when you’ll wed me.

Annet. [Warding him off with her hand.] You shall have my answer in a new song Andrew, which I have been learning.

[Andrew sits down despondently and prepares to listen.

Annet.  Now hark you to this, Andrew, and turn it well over in your mind. [She begins to sing: 

Say can you plough me an acre of land
Sing Ivy leaf, Sweet William and Thyme. 
Between the sea and the salt sea strand
And you shall be a true lover of mine?