CONCHUBOR. — _very stiffly._ — I’ve no call to. I’m well pleased she’s light and airy.
LAVARCHAM. — _offended at his tone._ — Well pleased is it? (_With a snort of irony_) It’s a queer thing the way the likes of me do be telling the truth, and the wise are lying all times.
[_She goes into room on left. Conchubor arranges himself before a mirror for a moment, then goes a little to the left and waits. Deirdre comes in poorly dressed, with a little bag and a bundle of twigs in her arms. She is astonished for a moment when she sees Conchubor; then she makes a courtesy to him, and goes to the hearth without any embarrassment._
CONCHUBOR. The gods save you, Deirdre. I have come up bringing you rings and jewels from Emain Macha.
CONCHUBOR. What have you brought from the hills?
DEIRDRE. — _quite self-possessed._ — A bag of nuts, and twigs for our fires at the dawn of day.
CONCHUBOR. — _showing annoyance in spite of himself._ — And it’s that way you’re picking up the manners will fit you to be Queen of Ulster?
DEIRDRE. — _made a little defiant by his tone._ — I have no wish to be a queen.
CONCHUBOR. — _almost sneeringly._ — You’d wish to be dressing in your duns and grey, and you herding your geese or driving your calves to their shed — like the common lot scattered in the glens.
DEIRDRE. — _very defiant._ — I would not, Conchubor. (_She goes to tapestry and begins to work._) A girl born the way I’m born is more likely to wish for a mate who’d be her likeness. . . . A man with his hair like the raven, maybe, and his skin like the snow and his lips like blood spilt on it.
CONCHUBOR. — _sees his mistake, and after a moment takes a flattering tone, looking at her work._ — Whatever you wish, there’s no queen but would be well pleased to have your skill at choosing colours and making pictures on the cloth. (_Looking closely._) What is it you’re figuring?
DEIRDRE. — _deliberately._ — Three young men and they chasing in the green gap of a wood.
CONCHUBOR. — _now almost pleading._ — It’s soon you’ll have dogs with silver chains to be chasing in the woods of Emain, for I have white hounds rearing up for you, and grey horses, that I’ve chosen from the finest in Ulster and Britain and Gaul.
DEIRDRE. — _unmoved as before._ — I’ve heard tell, in Ulster and Britain and Gaul, Naisi and his brothers have no match and they chasing in the woods.