[The colonel and Mrs. Gwyn are coming down the lawn.]

Miss beech.  Oh! very!

     [She sits beneath the tree and fans herself.]

Colonel.  The girls are all sitting out, Dick!  I’ve been obliged to dance myself.  Phew!

     [He mops his brow.]

     [Dick swinging round goes rushing off towards the house.]

[Looking after him.] Hallo!  What’s the matter with him?  Cooling your heels, Peachey?  By George! it’s hot.  Fancy the poor devils in London on a night like this, what? [He sees the moon.] It’s a full moon.  You’re lucky to be down here, Molly.

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.”