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?

Miss beech.  I’ve seen better.

Joy.  You tell any one before Mother comes, and see what I do!

Miss beech.  Well, don’t you tell about my worms, then!

Joy.  Give me my hat! [Backing hastily towards the tree, and putting her finger to her lips.] Look out!  Dick!

Miss beech.  Oh! dear!

     [She sits down on the swing, concealing the paint pot with her
     feet and skirts.]