Mrs. Gwyn. [In a low voice.] Very!

Miss beech.  Oh! so you think she’s lucky, do you?

Colonel. [Expanding his nostrils.] Delicious scent to-night!  Hay and roses—­delicious.

     [He seats himself between them.]

A shame that poor child has knocked up like this.  Don’t think it was the sun myself—­more likely neuralgic—­she ’s subject to neuralgia, Molly.

Mrs. Gwyn. [Motionless.] I know.

Colonel.  Got too excited about your coming.  I told Nell not to keep worrying her about her frock, and this is the result.  But your Aunt —­you know—­she can’t let a thing alone!

Miss beech.  Ah! ’t isn’t neuralgia.

     [Mrs. Gwyn looks at her quickly and averts her eyes.]

Colonel.  Excitable little thing.  You don’t understand her, Peachey.

Miss beech.  Don’t I?

Colonel.  She’s all affection.  Eh, Molly?  I remember what I was like at her age, a poor affectionate little rat, and now look at me!

Miss beech. [Fanning herself.] I see you.

Colonel. [A little sadly.] We forget what we were like when we were young.  She’s been looking forward to to-night ever since you wrote; and now to have to go to bed and miss the, dancing.  Too bad!

Mrs. Gwyn.  Don’t, Uncle Tom!

Colonel. [Patting her hand.] There, there, old girl, don’t think about it.  She’ll be all right tomorrow.

Miss beech.  If I were her mother I’d soon have her up.

Colonel.  Have her up with that headache!  What are you talking about, Peachey?

Miss beech.  I know a remedy.

Colonel.  Well, out with it.

Miss beech.  Oh!  Molly knows it too!

Mrs. Gwyn. [Staring at the ground.] It’s easy to advise.

Colonel. [Fidgetting.] Well, if you’re thinking of morphia for her, don’t have anything to do with it.  I’ve always set my face against morphia; the only time I took it was in Burmah.  I’d raging neuralgia for two days.  I went to our old doctor, and I made him give me some.  “Look here, doctor,” I said, “I hate the idea of morphia, I ’ve never taken it, and I never want to.”

Miss beech. [Looking at Mrs. Gwyn.] When a tooth hurts, you should have it out.  It ‘s only puttin’ off the evil day.

Colonel.  You say that because it was n’t your own.

Miss beech.  Well, it was hollow, and you broke your principles!

Colonel.  Hollow yourself, Peachey; you’re as bad as any one!

Miss beech [With devilry.] Well, I know that! [She turns to Mrs.
Gwyn.] He should have had it out!  Shouldn’t he, Molly?