Lever.  Are you serious, sir?

Colonel.  Certainly!  I’ve been thinking it over ever since you told me Henty had fought shy.  I ’ve a poor opinion of Henty.  He’s one of those fellows that says one thing and does another.  An opportunist!

Lever. [Slowly.] I’m afraid we’re all that, more or less. [He sits beneath the hollow tree.]

Colonel.  A man never knows what he is himself.  There ’s my wife.  She thinks she ’s——­By the way, don’t say anything to her about this, please.  And, Lever [nervously], I don’t think, you know, this is quite the sort of thing for my niece.

Lever. [Quietly.] I agree.  I mean to get her out of it.

Colonel. [A little taken aback.] Ah!  You know, she—­she’s in a very delicate position, living by herself in London. [Lever looks at him ironically.] You [very nervously] see a good deal of her?  If it had n’t been for Joy growing so fast, we shouldn’t have had the child down here.  Her mother ought to have her with her.  Eh!  Don’t you think so?

Lever. [Forcing a smile.] Mrs. Gwyn always seems to me to get on all right.

Colonel. [As though making a discovery.] You know, I’ve found that when a woman’s living alone and unprotected, the very least thing will set a lot of hags and jackanapes talking. [Hotly.] The more unprotected and helpless a woman is, the more they revel in it.  If there’s anything I hate in this world, it’s those wretched creatures who babble about their neighbours’ affairs.

Lever.  I agree with you.

Colonel.  One ought to be very careful not to give them—­that is——­ [checks himself confused; then hurrying on]—­I suppose you and Joy get on all right?

Lever. [Coolly.] Pretty well, thanks.  I’m not exactly in Joy’s line; have n’t seen very much of her, in fact.

     [Miss beech and joy have been approaching from the house.  But
     seeing lever, joy turns abruptly, hesitates a moment, and with
     an angry gesture goes away.]

Colonel [Unconscious.] Wonderfully affectionate little thing!  Well, she’ll be going home to-morrow!

Miss beech. [Who has been gazing after joy.] Talkin’ business, poor creatures?

Lever.  Oh, no!  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll wash my hands before tea.

     [He glances at the colonel poring over papers, and, shrugging
     his shoulders, strolls away.]

Miss beech. [Sitting in the swing.] I see your horrid papers.

Colonel.  Be quiet, Peachey!

Miss beech.  On a beautiful summer’s day, too.

Colonel.  That’ll do now.

Miss beech. [Unmoved.] For every ounce you take out of a gold mine you put two in.