Burlacombe.  Aw!  Yu can’t go on forgivin’ ‘ere, an’ forgivin’ there. 
’Tesn’t nat’ral.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  ’Tes the mischief ’e’m a parson.  ’Tes ‘im bein’ a lamb o’ God—­or ’twidden be so quare for ‘im to be forgivin’.

Burlacombe.  Yu goo an’ make un a gude ’ot drink.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  Poor soul!  What’ll ’e du now, I wonder? [Under her breath] ‘E’s cumin’!

[She goes hurriedly.  Burlacombe, with a startled look back, wavers and makes to follow her, but stops undecided in the inner doorway.  Strangway comes in from the darkness.  He turns to the window and drops overcoat and hat and the church key on the windowseat, looking about him as men do when too hard driven, and never fixing his eyes long enough on anything to see it.  Burlacombe, closing the door into the house, advances a step.  At the sound Strangway faces round.]

Burlacombe.  I wanted for yu to know, zurr, that me an’ mine ’adn’t nothin’ to du wi’ that darned fulishness, just now.

Strangway. [With a ghost of a smile] Thank you, Burlacombe.  It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter a bit.

Burlacombe.  I ‘ope yu won’t take no notice of it.  Like a lot o’ silly bees they get. [After an uneasy pause] Yu’ll excuse me spakin’ of this mornin’, an’ what ’appened.  ’Tes a brave pity it cam’ on yu so sudden-like before yu ’ad time to think.  ’Tes a sort o’ thing a man shude zet an’ chew upon.  Certainly ‘tes not a bit o’ yuse goin’ against human nature.  Ef yu don’t stand up for yureself there’s no one else not goin’ to.  ’Tes yure not ‘avin’ done that ’as made ’em so rampageous. [Stealing another look at Strangway] Yu’ll excuse me, zurr, spakin’ of it, but ‘tes amazin’ sad to zee a man let go his own, without a word o’ darin’.  ’Tea as ef ’e ’ad no passions like.

Strangway.  Look at me, Burlacombe.

     [Burlacombe looks up, trying hard to keep his eyes on
     Strangway’s, that seem to burn in his thin face.]

Strangway.  Do I look like that?  Please, please! [He touches his breast] I’ve too much here.  Please!

Burlacombe. [With a sort of startled respect] Well, zurr, ’tes not for me to zay nothin’, certainly.

     [He turns and after a slow look back at Strangway goes out.]

Strangway. [To himself] Passions!  No passions!  Ha!

     [The outer door is opened and Ivy Burlacombe appears, and,
     seeing him, stops.  Then, coming softly towards him, she speaks
     timidly.]

Ivy.  Oh!  Mr. Strangway, Mrs. Bradmere’s cumin’ from the Rectory.  I ran an’ told ’em.  Oh! ’twas awful.

[Strangway starts, stares at her, and turning on his heel, goes into the house.  Ivy’s face is all puckered, as if she were on the point of tears.  There is a gentle scratching at the door, which has not been quite closed.]

Voice of Gladys. [Whispering] Ivy!  Come on Ivy.  I won’t.