(Enter EMILY.)

PRIORESS.  O Emelye, let that hair’s golden ray
            Shine on our vengeance ere another day.

EMILY.  The path of duty plain is to be seen.

(Enter HIPPOLYTA, the queen.)

EMILY.  Ladies, this is Hippolyta, the queen.

(They all bow, the PRIORESS with delicate grace, the WIFE with a clumsy courtesy.)

EMILY.  My sister is a famous Amazon.

HIPPOLYTA.  I have no grievance, but I want the fun.

PRIORESS.  In courtesye lay ever my desire.

(Aside to NUNS.)

How charming with a real queen to conspire.

FIRST NUN.  Madame, your smiling is full simple.

SECOND NUN.  And coy.

WIFE.  Come, how can we that saucy wight destroy?

EMILY. (musingly)
            She, as a servant, would befit my station.

FIRST NUN. (to PRIORESS) Or feed your hounds.

(The SECOND NUN nods in agreement.)

PRIORESS. (catching sight of the WIFE’S look of disapproval—­aside)
Or scour her reputation!

WIFE.  Pray, madam, if it’s all the same to you
            Perhaps the rest would like a word or two.

PRIORESS.  I fear you ask too little, for I know
            That you have answered “yes” five times or so!

WIFE.  A spiteful thing!  Perhaps if you’d had one,
            He might have taught you how to curb your tongue.

(There is a weak cry from the bookcase.)

EMILY.  Surely ’twas not to quarrel that we came.

(A second cry from the bookcase)

PRIORESS.  Hark.  ’Tis a voice I hardly dare to name.

(Enter from behind the curtains, GRISELDA.)

ALL. (as GRISELDA appears) Griselda!

HIPPOLYTA. (disapprovingly)
            You for patience always quoted!

GRISELDA.  ’Twas only to my Duke that was devoted. 
            Now, further patience would but be disgrace. 
            I move we put that Junior in our place!

(ALL signify emphatic agreement.)

ALL.  Where is she?

FIRST NUN.  That, alas, we none can tell.

SECOND NUN.  Heaven help us!

(A bell rings outside.)

PRIORESS.  Hark! the ringing of the bell.

(They draw into the background as the JUNIOR comes in.  She throws the
     Chaucer on the floor.  All the Canterbury characters jump and cry out
     an if in pain as it hits the ground.)

JUNIOR.  I knew that I didn’t know a word of that Chaucer lesson.  I don’t believe English people ever spoke like those old Canterbury pilgrims.  If I studied a year I’d never know whether a letter was silent or wasn’t silent. I think it ought all to be made silent, and I think we ought to be allowed to read George Barr McCutcheon or somebody interesting instead of old fogies that died in—­Dear me!  When did old Chaucer die anyway?