Miss beech. [Sidling behind the swing and plucking off Joy’s sunbonnet.  With devilry.] Ah-h-h!  You’ve done your hair up; so that’s why you wouldn’t come down!

Joy. [Springing up, anal pouting.] I didn’t want any one to see before Mother.  You are a pig, Peachey!

Miss beech.  I thought there was something!

Joy. [Twisting round.] How does it look?

Miss beech.  I’ve seen better.

Joy.  You tell any one before Mother comes, and see what I do!

Miss beech.  Well, don’t you tell about my worms, then!

Joy.  Give me my hat! [Backing hastily towards the tree, and putting her finger to her lips.] Look out!  Dick!

Miss beech.  Oh! dear!

     [She sits down on the swing, concealing the paint pot with her
     feet and skirts.]

Joy. [On the rustic seat, and in a violent whisper.] I hope the worms will crawl up your legs!

     [Dick, in flannels and a hard straw hat comes in.  He is a quiet
     and cheerful boy of twenty.  His eyes are always fixed on joy.]

Dick. [Grimacing.] The Colonel’s getting licked.  Hallo!  Peachey, in the swing?

Joy. [Chuckling.] Swing her, Dick!

Miss beech. [Quivering with emotion.] Little creature!

Joy.  Swing her!

     [Dick takes the ropes.]

Miss beech. [Quietly.] It makes me sick, young man.

Dick. [Patting her gently on the back.] All right, Peachey.

Miss beech. [Maliciously.] Could you get me my sewing from the seat?  Just behind Joy.

Joy. [Leaning her head against the tree.] If you do, I won’t dance with you to-night.

     [Dick stands paralysed.  Miss beech gets off the swing, picks up
     the paint pot, and stands concealing it behind her.]

Joy.  Look what she’s got behind her, sly old thing!

Miss beech.  Oh! dear!

Joy.  Dance with her, Dick!

Miss beech.  If he dare!

Joy.  Dance with her, or I won’t dance with you to-night. [She whistles a waltz.]

Dick. [Desperately.] Come on then, Peachey.  We must.

Joy.  Dance, dance!

     [Dick seizes Miss beech by the waist.  She drops the paint pot. 
     They revolve.] [Convulsed.]

Oh, Peachey, Oh!

     [Miss beech is dropped upon the rustic seat.  Dick seizes joy’s
     hands and drags her up.]

No, no!  I won’t!

Miss beech. [Panting.] Dance, dance with the poor young man! [She moves her hands.] La la-la-la la-la la la!