Jarge (leaving nothing to chance). Happen she might be a real grand
lady by birth, bor.
Enter Rachel, beautifully dressed in the sort of costume in which
one would go to a fancy-dress ball as a village maiden.
Rachel (in the most expensive accent). Now Uncle George (shaking a
finger at him), didn't you promise me you'd go straight home? It
would serve you right if I never tied your tie for you again. (She
smiles brightly at him.)
Jarge (slapping his thigh in ecstasy). Eh, lass, yer du keep us old
'uns in order. (He bursts into a falsetto chuckle, loses the note,
blushes and buries his head in his mug.)
Willyum (rising). Us best be gettin' down along, Jarge, a rackun.
Jarge. Ay, bor, time us chaps was moving. Don't 'e be long, lass.
[Exeunt, limping heavily.
Rachel (sitting down on the log). Dear old men! How I love them all
in this village! I have known it all my life. How strange it is that
I have never had a father or mother. Sometimes I seem to remember a
life different to this--a life in fine houses and spacious parks,
among beautifully dressed people (which is surprising, seeing that
she was only three weeks old at the time; but the audience must be
given a hint of the plot), and then it all fades away again. (She
looks fixedly into space.)
Enter Hugh Fitzhugh, Squire.
Fitzhugh (standing behind Rachel, but missing her somehow). Did ever
man come into stranger inheritance? A wanderer in Central Australia,
I hear unexpectedly of my cousin's death through an advertisement in
an old copy of a Sunday newspaper. I hasten home--too late to soothe
his dying hours; too late indeed to enjoy my good fortune for more
than one short day. To-morrow I must give up all to the hospitals,
unless by some stroke of Fate this missing girl turns up.
(Impatiently.) Pshaw! She is dead. (Suddenly he notices Rachel.) By
heaven, a pretty girl in this out-of-the-way village! (He walks
round her.) Gad, she is lovely! Hugh, my boy, you are in luck. (He
takes off his hat.) Good-evening, my dear!
Rachel (with a start). Good-evening.
Fitzhugh (aside). She is adorable. She can be no common village
wench. (Aloud.) Do you live here, my girl?
Rachel. Yes, I have always lived here. (Aside.) How handsome he is.
Down, fluttering heart.
Fitzhugh (sitting on the log beside her). And who is the lucky
village lad who is privileged to woo such beauty?
Rachel. I have no lover, sir.
Fitzhugh (taking her hand). Can Hodge be so blind?
Rachel (innocently). Are you making love to me?
Fitzhugh. Upon my word I--(He gets up from the log, which is not
really comfortable.) What is your name?