Lever. [Suavely.] The glass in the hall’s steady enough.

Ernest. Oh, I never go by that; that’s a rotten old glass.

Colonel.  Oh! is it?

Ernest. [Paying no attention.] I’ve got a little ripper—­never puts you in the cart.  Bet you what you like we have thunder before tomorrow night.

Miss beech. [Removing her gaze from joy to lever.] You don’t think we shall have it before to-night, do you?

Lever. [Suavely.] I beg your pardon; did you speak to me?

Miss beech.  I said, you don’t think we shall have the thunder before to-night, do you?

     [She resumes her watch on joy.]

Lever. [Blandly.] Really, I don’t see any signs of it.

     [Joy, crossing to the rug, flings herself down.  And Dick sits
     cross-legged, with his eyes fast fixed on her.]

Miss beech. [Eating.] People don’t often see what they don’t want to, do they?

     [Lever only lifts his brows.]

Mrs. Gwyn. [Quickly breaking ivy.] What are you talking about?  The weather’s perfect.

Miss beech.  Isn’t it?

Mrs. Hope.  You’d better make a good tea, Peachey; nobody’ll get anything till eight, and then only cold shoulder.  You must just put up with no hot dinner, Mr. Lever.

Lever. [Bowing.] Whatever is good enough for Miss Beech is good enough for me.

Miss beech. [Sardonically-taking another sandwich.] So you think!

Mrs. Gwyn. [With forced gaiety.] Don’t be so absurd, Peachey.

     [Miss beech, grunts slightly.]

Colonel. [Once more busy with his papers.] I see the name of your engineer is Rodriguez—­Italian, eh?

Lever.  Portuguese.

Colonel.  Don’t like that!

Lever.  I believe he was born in England.

Colonel. [Reassured.] Oh, was he?  Ah!

Ernest. Awful rotters, those Portuguese!

Colonel.  There you go!

Letty.  Well, Father, Ernie only said what you said.

Mrs. Hope.  Now I want to ask you, Mr. Lever, is this gold mine safe?  If it isn’t—­I simply won’t allow Tom to take these shares; he can’t afford it.

Lever.  It rather depends on what you call safe, Mrs. Hope.

Mrs. Hope.  I don’t want anything extravagant, of course; if they’re going to pay their 10 per cent, regularly, and Tom can have his money out at any time—­[There is a faint whistle from the swing.] I only want to know that it’s a thoroughly genuine thing.

Mrs. Gwyn. [Indignantly.] As if Maurice would be a Director if it was n’t?