Joy.  Was she ever sorry?

Miss beech.  Yes, but she always went on doin’ it.

Joy.  I think being sorry ’s stupid!

Miss beech.  Oh, do you?

Joy.  It isn’t any good.  Was Mother revengeful, like me?

Miss beech.  Ah!  Wasn’t she?

Joy.  And jealous?

Miss beech.  The most jealous girl I ever saw.

Joy. [Nodding.] I like to be like her.

Miss beech. [Regarding her intently.] Yes! you’ve got all your troubles before you.

Joy.  Mother was married at eighteen, wasn’t she, Peachey?  Was she—­ was she much in love with Father then?

Miss beech. [With a sniff.] About as much as usual. [She takes the paint pot, and walking round begins to release the worms.]

Joy. [Indifferently.] They don’t get on now, you know.

Miss beech.  What d’you mean by that, disrespectful little creature?

Joy. [In a hard voice.] They haven’t ever since I’ve known them.  Miss beech. [Looks at her, and turns away again.] Don’t talk about such things.

Joy.  I suppose you don’t know Mr. Lever? [Bitterly.] He’s such a cool beast.  He never loses his temper.

Miss beech.  Is that why you don’t like him?

Joy. [Frowning.] No—­yes—­I don’t know.

Miss beech.  Oh! perhaps you do like him?

Joy.  I don’t; I hate him.

Miss beech. [Standing still.] Fie!  Naughty Temper!

Joy.  Well, so would you!  He takes up all Mother’s time.

Miss beech. [In a peculiar voice.] Oh! does he?

Joy.  When he comes I might just as well go to bed. [Passionately.] And now he’s chosen to-day to come down here, when I haven’t seen her for two months!  Why couldn’t he come when Mother and I’d gone home.  It’s simply brutal!

Miss beech.  But your mother likes him?

Joy. [Sullenly.] I don’t want her to like him.

Miss beech. [With a long look at Joy.] I see!

Joy.  What are you doing, Peachey?

Miss beech. [Releasing a worm.] Letting the poor creatures go.

Joy.  If I tell Dick he’ll never forgive you.

Miss beech. [Sidling behind the swing and plucking off Joy’s sunbonnet.  With devilry.] Ah-h-h!  You’ve done your hair up; so that’s why you wouldn’t come down!

Joy. [Springing up, anal pouting.] I didn’t want any one to see before Mother.  You are a pig, Peachey!

Miss beech.  I thought there was something!

Joy. [Twisting round.] How does it look?