Ivy. [Fluttering] Oh, yes, Mrs. Strangway.

Beatrice.  Quite sure?

Ivy.  Oh, yes!

Beatrice.  Are you old enough to keep a secret?

Ivy. [Nodding] I’m fourteen now.

Beatrice.  Well, then—­, I don’t want anybody but Mr. Strangway to know I’ve been here; nobody, not even your mother.  D’you understand?

Ivy. [Troubled] No.  Only, I can keep a secret.

Beatrice.  Mind, if anybody hears, it will hurt Mr. Strangway.

Ivy.  Oh!  I wouldn’t—­hurt—­him.  Must yu go away again? [Trembling towards her] I wish yu wer goin’ to stay.  And perhaps some one has seen yu—­They——­

Beatrice. [Hastily] No, no one.  I came motoring; like this. [She moves her veil to show how it can conceal her face] And I came straight down the little lane, and through the barn, across the yard.

Ivy. [Timidly] People du see a lot.

Beatrice. [Still with that hovering smile] I know, but——­Now go and tell him quickly and quietly.

Ivy. [Stopping at the door] Mother’s pluckin’ a duck.  Only, please, Mrs. Strangway, if she comes in even after yu’ve gone, she’ll know, because—­because yu always have that particular nice scent.

Beatrice.  Thank you, my child.  I’ll see to that.

[Ivy looks at her as if she would speak again, then turns suddenly, and goes out.  BEATRICE’S face darkens; she shivers.  Taking out a little cigarette case, she lights a cigarette, and watches the puff’s of smoke wreathe shout her and die away.  The frightened mercy peers out, spying for a chance, to escape.  Then from the house Strangway comes in.  All his dreaminess is gone.]

Strangway.  Thank God! [He stops at the look on her face] I don’t understand, though.  I thought you were still out there.

Beatrice. [Letting her cigarette fall, and putting her foot on it] No.

Strangway:  You’re staying?  Oh!  Beatrice; come!  We’ll get away from here at once—­as far, as far—­anywhere you like.  Oh! my darling —­only come!  If you knew——­

Beatrice.  It’s no good, Michael; I’ve tried and tried.

Strangway.  Not!  Then, why—?  Beatrice!  You said, when you were right away—­I’ve waited——­

Beatrice.  I know.  It’s cruel—­it’s horrible.  But I told you not to hope, Michael.  I’ve done my best.  All these months at Mentone, I’ve been wondering why I ever let you marry me—­when that feeling wasn’t dead!

Strangway.  You can’t have come back just to leave me again?

Beatrice.  When you let me go out there with mother I thought—­I did think I would be able; and I had begun—­and then—­spring came!

Strangway.  Spring came here too!  Never so—­aching!  Beatrice, can’t you?