Mrs. Gwyn.  I—­don’t—­judge for other people.

     [She gets up suddenly, as though deprived of air.]

Colonel. [Alarmed.] Hallo, Molly!  Are n’t you feeling the thing, old girl?

Miss beech.  Let her get some air, poor creature!

Colonel. [Who follows anxiously.] Your Aunt’s got some first-rate sal volatile.

Mrs. Gwyn.  It’s all right, Uncle Tom.  I felt giddy, it’s nothing, now.

Colonel.  That’s the dancing. [He taps his forehead.] I know what it is when you’re not used to it.

Mrs. Gwyn. [With a sudden bitter outburst.] I suppose you think I ’m a very bad mother to be amusing myself while joy’s suffering.

Colonel.  My dear girl, whatever put such a thought into your head?  We all know if there were anything you could do, you’d do it at once, would n’t she, Peachey?

     [Miss beech turns a slow look on Mrs. Gwyn.]

Mrs. Gwyn.  Ah! you see, Peachey knows me better.

Colonel. [Following up his thoughts.] I always think women are wonderful.  There’s your Aunt, she’s very funny, but if there’s anything the matter with me, she’ll sit up all night; but when she’s ill herself, and you try to do anything for her, out she raps at once.

Mrs. Gwyn. [In a low voice.] There’s always one that a woman will do anything for.

Colonel.  Exactly what I say.  With your Aunt it’s me, and by George!  Molly, sometimes I wish it was n’t.

Miss beech, [With meaning.] But is it ever for another woman!

Colonel.  You old cynic!  D’ you mean to say Joy wouldn’t do anything on earth for her Mother, or Molly for Joy?  You don’t know human nature.  What a wonderful night!  Have n’t seen such a moon for years, she’s like a great, great lamp!

     [Mrs. Gwyn hiding from Miss BEECH’s eyes, rises and slips her
     arm through his; they stand together looking at the moon.]

Don’t like these Chinese lanterns, with that moon-tawdry! eh!  By Jove, Molly, I sometimes think we humans are a rubbishy lot—­each of us talking and thinking of nothing but our own petty little affairs; and when you see a great thing like that up there—­[Sighs.] But there’s your Aunt, if I were to say a thing like that to her she ’d—­ she’d think me a lunatic; and yet, you know, she ’s a very good woman.

Mrs. Gwyn. [Half clinging to him.] Do you think me very selfish, Uncle Tom?

Colonel.  My dear—­what a fancy!  Think you selfish—­of course I don’t; why should I?

Mrs. Gwyn. [Dully.] I don’t know.