The Squire | Page 4

Yes, Squire. (She retires.)
{Kate.} And give my love--the Squire's love--to father, and tell him to keep a good heart.
{Rob.} Thank'ee, Squire. But father sends his respects, and thinks he's a dead 'un, and hopes it'll make no difference.
(Rob. goes over to L. meeting Chris., who gives him a mug of milk and retires. Rob. sits L., and drinks on form.)
{Kate.} (sits on stone C., sharply to the Shabby Person, who is up stage) Now then, sir, what do you want?
{S. P.} (who is evidently addicted to drink) I--oh yes. (to Gil.) Is this Miss Verity?
{Gil.} That is the Squire, (behind Squire a little to her L.)
{S. P.} The Squire!
{Gil.} The Squire in these parts is the person who owns Verity's lands. Miss Verity chooses to be regarded as the Squire, and to be called so. (passes behind Squire)
{S. P.} Quite so. (he comes down L., C.) Hem! The editor of the "Pagley Mercury and Market- Sinfield Herald," with which are incorporated the "Inn-Keeper's Manual" and the "Agriculturists' Guide," presents his compliments to Squire Verity, and, regarding the ever-spreading influence of modern journalism, requests that I, its representative, may be permitted to be present at Squire Verity's Harvest Feast to-morrow evening. (Kate laughs heartily. The S. P. looks round at Rob. to ascertain the cause of her amusement) Journalism is as a tree, its root is embedded in our constitution, while its branches--
{Kate.} All right; you can come.
{S. P.} (raising his arms) While its branches--
{Kate.} All right; you can come.
{S. P.} (hurt) Thank you.
{Kate.} Would you--(noticing his face) Oh dear
{S. P.} I beg pardon.
{Kate.} Would you--would you like anything to drink?
{S. P.} (quickly) Yes.
{Kate.} Christie!
{Gil.} Christie!
{Kate.} (sorrowfully) Are you quite sure?
{S. P.} Positive, (sits R., of table)
(Chris, appears at door L.)
{Kate.} Christie! (emphatically) Milk!
{S. P.} Er--I should prefer ale. (rises quickly)
{Chris.} The old cask has run out, and the new one isn't to be tapped till to-morrow.
{S. P.} I don't think I really need anything. I'm very moderate. Thank you. Good day! (Robjohns puts mug on form, rises and goes up stage wiping mouth.)
(Shabby Person hurries off through archway; Kate laughs.)
{Kate.} Good-bye, Master Robjohns!
{Rob.} (turning round, up stage) Father's respects, and he has always heretofore cut up the ducks at the harvest feast.
{Kate.} Well?
{Rob.} Father's mortally fond of duck, but he always cut 'em up fairly and friendly.
{Kate.} Yes?
{Rob.} My best respects to you, Squire, and as I come, in place of father, I hope you'll make no difference. Good day to ye, Squire.
(He goes off through archway. Kate rises, goes up C., and down L., C.)
{Kate.} Thank you, Gilbert, for thinking so much of to-morrow.
{Gil.} (looking at her earnestly) Don't name it, Squire.
{Kate.} (awkwardly) The summer's over--the winds are getting quite cold--good afternoon, Gilbert.
(Kate takes shawl off stone and goes towards steps, where Gilbert intercepts her.)
{Gil.} Squire!
{Kate.} Yes?
{Gil.} Will you listen to me?
{Kate.} (L. C.) Business?
{Gil.} (R. of her) The business of my life.
{Kate.} Oh, Gilbert! Again? (sits)
{Gil.} (puts gun down R., of archway) Squire-- Squire Kate, I--I can't take "no" for an answer.
{Kate.} Are you a strong man or a weak one?
{Gil.} Strong enough to keep from drink and gambling, when you make me mad; weak enough to crawl about this place for the sake of a look from you. Strong enough to love you with all my soul; weak enough not to hate you for wrecking my life.
{Kate.} Don't talk fiddle-de-dee nonsense about your life being wrecked. Gilbert, we were children together, we were lad and lass together, and perhaps, if we both live, we may be old people together--but we mustn't be man and woman together; it doesn't answer. Now, tell me, what are you supposed to be on my land?
{Gil.} Folks call me the bailiff, but I'm more of a handyman. I work for Squire Kate, my dear master--and I love Squire Kate, my dear mistress.
{Kate.} Then take a word of advice--cut yourself adrift from Squire Kate's apron strings. (Gilbert turns away) When my father, John Verity, died, and left his girl alone in the world, you helped me out of debt and difficulty; but all the skill on earth can never squeeze more than bread and butter out of this dear broken-down old place. (she rises) So go away where there's a world for you, a world to work in and a world to live in. (she holds out her hand to him) Thank you for the past. Good-bye.
{Gil.} (R. C., falteringly) If I come back--rich-- in a year, would there be any chance for me?
{Kate.} (in a whisper) No. (crosses to R.)
{Gil.} Good-bye, dear Squire Kate, (goes to her)
{Kate.} Good-bye, old friend Gilbert, (they shake hands)
(She sits on garden seat, thoughtfully. Takes small purse from her pocket, looks at wedding ring in it, and kisses it. Gil. goes quickly up stage, then turns and