Six Plays | Page 5

Sunday clothes on your back.
MILLIE. I'd sooner go in rags with Giles at the side of me.
ANNET. Come, you must hearten up. Andrew will soon be here. And Uncle says that you have got to give him his answer to-night for good and all.
MILLIE. O I cannot see him--I'm wearied to death of Andrew, and that's the very truth it is.
ANNET. O Millie--I wonder how 'twould feel to be you for half-an- hour and to have such a fine suitor coming to me and asking for me to say Yes.
MILLIE. O I wish 'twas you and not me that he was after, Annet.
ANNET. 'Tisn't likely that anyone such as Master Andrew will ever come courting a poor girl like me, Millie. But I'd dearly love to know how 'twould feel.
[MILLIE raises her head and looks at her cousin for a few minutes in silence, then her face brightens.
MILLIE. Then you shall, Annet.
ANNET. Shall what, Mill?
MILLIE. Know how it feels. Look here--'Tis sick to death I am with courting, when 'tis from the wrong quarter, and if I'm to wed Andrew come next month, I'll not be tormented with him before that time,--so 'tis you that shall stop and talk with him this evening, Annet, and I'll slip out to the woods and gather flowers.
ANNET. How wild and unlikely you do talk, Mill.
MILLIE. In the dusk he'll never know that 'tisn't me. Being cousins, we speak after the same fashion, and in the shape of us there's not much that's amiss.
ANNET. But in the clothing of us, Mill--why, 'tis a grand young lady that you look--whilst I -
MILLIE. [Taking up the silken cloak.] Here--put this over your gown, Annet.
ANNET. [Standing up.] I don't mind just trying it on, like.
MILLIE. [Fastening it.] There--and now the bonnet, with the veil pulled over the face.
[She ties the bonnet and arranges the veil on ANNET.
MILLIE. [Standing back and surveying her cousin.] There, Annet, there May, who is to tell which of us 'tis?
MAY. [Coming forward.] O I should never know that 'twasn't you, Cousin Mill.
MILLIE. And I could well mistake her for myself too, so listen, Annet. 'Tis you that shall talk with Master Andrew when he comes to- night. And 'tis you that shall give him my answer. I'll not burn my lips by speaking the word he asks of me.
ANNET. O Mill--I cannot--no I cannot.
MILLIE. Don't let him have it very easily, Annet. Set him a ditch or two to jump before he gets there. And let the thorns prick him a bit before he gathers the flower. You know my way with him.
MAY. And I know it too, Millie--Why, your tongue, 'tis very near as sharp as when Aunt do speak.
ANNET. O Millie, take off these things--I cannot do it, that's the truth.
MAY. [Looking out through the door.] There's Andrew a-coming over the mill yard.
MILLIE. Here, sit down, Annet, with the back of you to the light.
[She pushes ANNET into a chair beneath the window.
MAY. Can I get into the cupboard and listen to it, Cousin Mill?
MILLIE. If you promise to bide quiet and to say naught of it afterwards.
MAY. O I promise, I promise--I'll just leave a crack of the door open for to hear well.
[MAY gets into the cupboard. MILLIE takes up ANNET'S new shawl and puts it all over her.
MILLIE. No one will think that 'tisn't you, in the dusk.
ANNET. O Millie, what is it that you've got me to do?
MILLIE. Never you mind, Annet--you shall see what 'tis to have a grand suitor and I shall get a little while of quiet out yonder, where I can think on Giles.
[She runs out of the door just as ANDREW comes up. ANDREW knocks and then enters the open door.
ANDREW. Where's Annet off to in such a hurry?
ANNET. [Very faintly.] I'm sure I don't know. [ANDREW lays aside his hat and comes up to the window. He stands before ANNET looking down on her. She becomes restless under his gaze, and at last signs to him to sit down.
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.