BATHOLOMMEYS _cheerfully_.] Good-morning, good people. [_He puts the jug
on the sideboard and hangs up the key. The_ BATHOLOMMEYS _look sadly at_
PETER. MRS. BATHOLOMMEY _in the fore-ground tries to smile pleasantly, but
can only assume the peculiarly pained expression of a person about to
break terrible news._

REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY. [_Rising to the occasion--warmly grasping_ PETER'S
_hand_.] Ah, my dear friend! Many thanks for the flowers William brought
us, and the noble cheque you sent me. We're still enjoying the vegetables
you generously provided. I _did_ relish the squash.

PETER. [_Catching a glimpse of_ MRS. BATHOLOMMEY'S _gloomy expression_.]
Anything distressing you this morning, Mrs. Batholommey?

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. No, no.... I hope _you're_ feeling well--er--I don't
mean that--I--

REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY. [_Cheerily_.] Of course, she does; and why not, why
not, dear friend?

PETER. Will you have a glass of my plum brandy?

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. [_Stiffly_.] No, thank you. As you know, I belong to the
W.C.T.U.

PETER. Pastor?

REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY. [_Tolerantly_.] No, thank you. I am also opposed to
er--