The Squire | Page 5

looks at her; after a moment he comes softly, unperceived, to C.)
{Gil.} (quietly) Kate.
{Kate.} (rising with a start) Eric!
{Gil.} Oh!
{Kate.} (seeing Gil.) You!--why have you come back? (reseating herself)
{Gil.} (bitterly) Eric! Eric! The young soldier who is privileged to wind the apron strings round his neck--who lolls away his leisure here with his feet higher than his head, and a cigar between his teeth.
{Kate.} (confused) Don't heed me--I don't know what I have said!
{Gil.} Said! Called me by another man's name. Oh, I didn't mean to trap you.
{Kate.} (rising) Trap! (takes up key-basket)
{Gil.} I beg your pardon, (meekly) but it was concerning this very Mr. Thorndyke that I returned to speak to you.
{Kate.} I won't hear you. I'm going indoors.
{Gil.} (calmly) I won't let you. (standing before her)
{Kate.} You know what you are here?
{Gil.} Is it mistress and servant?
{Kate.} I was your mistress--you are my discharged servant.
{Gil.} Humbly, then, as an old servant, I ask you to consider what this Mr. Thorndyke really is.
{Kate.} (coldly) A gentleman and a soldier.
{Gil.} Not a gentleman, because he's a soldier-- what does he do here? (pause)
{Kate.} We are friends.
{Gil.} They don't say that in the parlour of the White Lion.
{Kate.} Oh! Do they dare--?
{Gil.} Oh, yes, they dare.
{Kate.} The idlers in a pot-house malign the woman out of whose land they get the very crust they eat. (covers her face with her hands and sits on garden seat) How hard! How cruel!
{Gil.} (earnestly) I have stopped their tongues when I have been by. I have always said--
{Kate.} (raising her head) You, Mr. Hythe? Thank you. In the future don't meddle with their legitimate pleasures, (laughing with pain) They've so little to amuse them. How selfish I am! (the bell rings) Who is that?
(The Rev. Paul Dormer appears in the archway from L., He is a dark-browed man, about forty, but with white hair; he is attired as a clergyman, but his dress is rusty, shabby, and slovenly; he carries a heavy stick.)
{Gil.} (surprised) Parson Dormer! (going up C.)
{Kate.} (rising) Mr. Dormer! (Dor. comes down, meeting Gil.)
{Dormer.} (to Gil. roughly) You're Gilbert Hythe, I think.
{Gil.} You think aright--I am.
{Dormer.} Can you carry a basket?
{Gil.} Where to?
{Dormer.} To the White Lion!
{Gil.} What for?
{Dormer.} For the sake of a sick woman.
{Gil.} I can carry a basket to the White Lion.
{Dormer.} (gruffly) Thank you.
{Gil.} (looking at Dor.) For the sake of a sick woman?
{Dormer.} (turning away) Ah!
{Gil.} (to Kate.) Call me when I'm wanted, Squire. I'm going to say good-bye to the dog. (Goes off through archway to R., Dor. sits R., of table.)
{Kate.} (L. C.) If your business is with Gilbert Hythe, you can dispense with the mistress of the house, Mr. Dormer, (about to go)
{Dormer.} No, I want you, too.
{Kate.} Really, parson--you haven't shown face at The Priors since father died, two years ago; you don't say "How do you do?" to John Verity's daughter; and you don't say "Good-day" to the nearest approach to a Squire that your parish can boast. The one omission is rude--the other impolitic.
{Dormer.} I didn't like your father--you resemble him in face and manner.
{Kate.} My father didn't like you. (she holds out her hand, going to him) How are you, parson? What can I do for you?
(He looks at her, takes her hand sulkily.)
{Dormer.} Fill a basket with food, fit for an invalid, and send your man with it to Market-Sinfield.
{Kate.} (calling) Christie! (to Dor.) A woman manages the White Lion, I think.
{Dormer.} A woman mismanages the White Lion.
{Kate.} (clapping her hands) Christie! (to Dor.) Shan't we hurt the landlady's feelings by sending food there? (goes to R., table)
{Dormer.} (with enjoyment) We shall, (irritably) Now then, you--what's-your-name?--why don't you come when you're called?
(Christiana appears at door, wiping her hands on her apron.)
{Chris.} (angrily) Who's calling me "what's-your- name"? (seeing Dor.) Why, parson! (curtseys at door)
{Dormer.} (rises--shaking his stick at her) The gipsy girl, who won't sing the hymns on Sunday.
{Kate.} You start them in such a high key, parson.
{Chris.} (curtseying) Yes, Squire, that he does.
{Dormer.} (raising his finger) The higher the key, Madam, the nearer Heaven! (passes behind table to L., of it. Chris, laughs)
{Kate.} Hush, Christie, come here. (Chris, comes to Kate c.) Fill a basket with everything that is tempting, fit for an invalid, (gives key to Christie)
{Chris.} (to Dor.) For the lady at the White Lion, parson?
{Dormer.} (sitting L., of table) I'm not here to feed woman's curiosity.
{Kate.} Run along, Christie.
(Christie runs up the steps into the house R., C. Kate crosses softly over to Dor. and stands by table, R., of it.)
(quietly) It is not often, Parson Dormer, that you stoop to ask help of a woman, by all accounts.
{Dormer.} (without looking at her) No!
{Kate.} Don't think me rude--but in Market-Sinfield the folks call you the Woman-Hater.
{Dormer.} What else do they call me in Market-Sinfield?
{Kate.}