Mrs. Gwyn. [Forcing a laugh.] You are funny!

Joy. [Very quickly.] I haven’t made any engagements because of you.

     [The colonel approaches through the wall.]

Mrs. Gwyn.  Well, Uncle Tom?

Colonel. [Genially.] Why, Molly! [He kisses her.] What made you come by the towing-path?

Joy.  Because it’s so much cooler, of course.

Colonel.  Hallo!  What’s the matter with you?  Phew! you’ve got your hair up!  Go and tell your aunt your mother’s on the lawn.  Cut along!

     [Joy goes, blowing a kiss.]

Cracked about you, Molly!  Simply cracked!  We shall miss her when you take her off to-morrow. [He places a chair for her.] Sit down, sit down, you must be tired in this heat.  I ’ve sent Bob for your things with the wheelbarrow; what have you got?—­only a bag, I suppose.

Mrs. Gwyn. [Sitting, with a smile.] That’s all, Uncle Tom, except—­ my trunk and hat-box.

Colonel.  Phew!  And what’s-his-name brought a bag, I suppose?

Mrs. Gwyn.  They’re all together.  I hope it’s not too much, Uncle Tom.

Colonel. [Dubiously.] Oh!  Bob’ll manage!  I suppose you see a good deal of—­of—­Lever.  That’s his brother in the Guards, isn’t it?

Mrs. Gwyn.  Yes.

Colonel.  Now what does this chap do?

Mrs. Gwyn.  What should he do, Uncle Tom?  He’s a Director.

Colonel.  Guinea-pig! [Dubiously.] Your bringing him down was a good idea.

     [Mrs. Gwyn, looking at him sidelong, bites her lips.]

I should like to have a look at him.  But, I say, you know, Molly—­ mines, mines!  There are a lot of these chaps about, whose business is to cook their own dinners.  Your aunt thinks——­

Mrs. Gwyn.  Oh!  Uncle Tom, don’t tell me what Aunt Nell thinks!

Colonel.  Well-well!  Look here, old girl!  It’s my experience never to—­what I mean is—­never to trust too much to a man who has to do with mining.  I’ve always refused to have anything to do with mines.  If your husband were in England, of course, I’d say nothing.

Mrs. Gwyn. [Very still.] We’d better keep him out of the question, had n’t we?

Colonel.  Of course, if you wish it, my dear.

Mrs. Gwyn.  Unfortunately, I do.

Colonel. [Nervously.] Ah! yes, I know; but look here, Molly, your aunt thinks you’re in a very delicate position-in fact, she thinks you see too much of young Lever.

Mrs. Gwyn. [Stretching herself like an angry cat.] Does she?  And what do you think?

Colonel.  I?  I make a point of not thinking.  I only know that here he is, and I don’t want you to go burning your fingers, eh?