Lever.  Thanks. [He takes a bite.] It’s splendid!

Mrs. Gwyn. [With forced gaiety.] It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you eat jam.

Lever. [Smiling a forced smile.] Really!  But I love it.

Mrs. Gwyn. [With a little bow.] You always refuse mine.

Joy. [Who has been staring at her enemy, suddenly.] I’m all burnt up!  Are n’t you simply boiled, Mother?

     [She touches her Mother’s forehead.]

Mrs. Gwyn.  Ugh!  You’re quite clammy, Joy.

Joy.  It’s enough to make any one clammy.

     [Her eyes go back to lever’s face as though to stab him.]

Ernest. [From the swing.] I say, you know, the glass is going down.

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!